Can We Keep Him?
by Ashana
Summary: The Marionette sees that the Toy animatronics are depressed without anybody to entertain or perform for anymore. When he learns that the new night guard at the current restaurant, Mike Schmidt, is homeless, he decides to solve his problems and Mike's at the same time. T for swearing and unpleasant imagery.
1. The Plan

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 1: The Plan**

November was chilly in the north-east. The leaves on the trees had gone from brilliant greens to fierce reds and yellows, painting the streets with fire as Autumn approached it's end. There hadn't been any snowflakes yet, but there was plenty of frost coating the grass in the mornings. People had gone from jogging in shorts and tank-tops to walking by in fluffy coats while clutching cups of coffee or hot cocoa in their hands. Parents no longer pushed their babies past in strollers – getting a coat on an infant or toddler was simply too much trouble, so the daily walks stopped in favor of romping inside toasty houses. Busy men and women took the bus or drove their own cars instead of wandering down the sidewalks, choosing warmth over a leisurely walk to work.

In the quiet side of town, the cracked sidewalks had begun to see even less use. Thanks to some bad apartment fires that had happened last year, many people had been forced to move out. Property values had also dropped when the elementary school was closed, a brand new one large enough to cater to the whole population opening on the other side of town. This had led to many houses being left empty or owned by the banks, unable to be sold. The businesses on these quiet streets were hit hard as their customer base left – several had closed in the past few years, and even a Starbucks had needed to move closer to the center of town in order to keep running. Among those closed and decaying properties was Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

The restaurant had once been a large draw for children, both from the town itself and all the surrounding counties. The outside was bright white-washed brick, with large windows around the main doors. A sign, which had once lit up with neon, had proclaimed the restaurants name beneath the face of a smiling brown bear with blush and a top-hat. The restaurant had catered to all tastes, with play areas for toddlers and children, an arcade for teenagers, and a menu that included hot dogs, hamburgers, french-fries and, of course, pizza, along with a hefty desert list.

All these amenities had paled in comparison to the true marvel of the restaurant: the animatronics. Highly advanced for 1987, the restaurant had opened that January and revealed six walking, talking miracles. The most popular was, by far, the Fazbear Band. A large bear, Toy Freddy, a chicken with a cupcake, Toy Chica, and a blue bunny with a guitar, Toy Bonnie, had wowed the children as they sang songs. The animatronics had been intelligent enough to remember the names of children, recognize repeat visitors on sight, and catalog the children's favorite songs, deserts, and pizza toppings. They were even able to walk around the main floor when not performing, hugging the children and talking with their little customers on a one-on-one level. Toy Foxy, a pirate vixen with her own little stage, told stories to toddlers and the younger children. Balloon Boy, a small animatronic with a built-in helium tank that was attached to his lips by a hose, blew up balloons and handed them out to the children.

The last animatronic was one that had been with the company since it's early days. The Marionette, who lived in a large purple and blue present box in the Prize Corner, had been one of the first animatronics made, alongside the original Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. He sometimes seemed much smarter than the other animatronics, at least to the employees who worked at the restaurant. One man described him as 'always thinking,' and claimed the animatronic freaked him out. The children loved him though, since he handed out prizes for their tickets. Sometimes, if a child was only a few tickets away from a prize he would 'accidentally' miscount their tickets and give them the more expensive prize. It always made his mechanical heart warm when they would beam, holding the hard-won toy to their chest and thanking him before skipping away to show their parents and friends. There was nothing The Marionette loved more than to make a child smile and feel special.

1987 had been a long time ago to the denizens of this building, however. It was 1993, and six years ago they had been shut down after Mangle, who had been torn apart and put together by the toddlers so many times her circuits were fried, had accidentally bit a day guard named Jeremy in the head. The store had been shut down days after, and then left to rot while the owners scrambled to squash the bad press. They announced a new store on the other, busier side of town and had locked the building up tight, sealing away the animatronics and dooming them to years of solitude.

By all rights, the six animatronics should have ceased functioning within months of being imprisoned in the decaying building. The Marionette, luckily, had some super-natural tricks up his sleeve. He never explained how he had gotten his powers, and the Toys never thought to ask. He gladly used them to keep the power running and the water flowing. After messing with a few switches and placing a few fake phone calls, he'd managed to bamboozle the water and power company to keep supplying the restaurant with what they needed, though the representatives he'd spoken with would never remember that they'd agreed to that. All six of them worked together to keep the restaurant as clean as possible, and the puppet used his magic to fix what he could. Six years had taken it's toll, however, and there were cracks in the drywall and dents in the floor that he simply couldn't repair.

They weren't bothered by encroaching urban decay, however. The six were only ever bothered by one thing: their loneliness. Sure, they had each other, and the Toys all loved each other. They were a family, after all. That didn't replace the joy they felt when entertaining children, though, and every day that went by without a customer chipped away a bit at their plastic smiles. Six years into their isolation, it was beginning to show.

Toy Freddy ceased his constant humming and no longer rehearsed his joke routines, and stopped writing new songs for the band. Toy Bonnie stopped obsessively practicing his guitar. Toy Chica stopped pursuing her cookbooks or rummaging about the kitchen, imagining the dishes she would create for the children. Mangle stopped creating new pirate stories and instead focused on repairing herself as best she could – something she wouldn't have dreamed of doing when the threat of being dismantled by the children was still present. Balloon Boy helped Mangle with her repairs or worked on cleaning his corner of the restaurant, the Arcade Zone, and stopped blowing up balloons – he had a limited amount of helium left and didn't want to waste it.

The Marionette watched his family crumble before him and decided that he wouldn't have it. He kept an eye on the Toys from his box, plotting how to lift their spirits. Now, as November arrived and the leaves began to fall earnestly in preparation for winter, he got an idea.

Well, he didn't get the idea, per-say. His best friend, Golden Freddy, popped in and gave him the idea. They had been friends since the early days of the business. Both were blessed with supernatural powers, including teleportation. Gold, as he was nicknamed, was able to pop by the old restaurant whenever he wished. Marionette was able to go to the new location as well, which he did frequently in order to nick whatever cleaning supplies or small endoskeleton parts his family needed. As much as he hated to admit it, the new location was doing very well, despite only being open a few years. They were already far outpacing the profit the Toys had earned, and he couldn't help but feel jealous of the original animatronics whenever he saw them perform.

Gold popped in that Friday afternoon for his usual conjured cup of tea and gossip session with his friend. They sat in the empty prize corner, chatting about nothing in particular. Marionette detailed a rather funny disaster involving Balloon Boy, Toy Bonnie, and a can of left-over brown paint that had the golden bear in stitches. Soon after that, Gold mentioned something that got the wheels in Marionette's head turning.

"Did I tell you we've got a new night guard?" Gold munched on a tea biscuit – a perk of supernatural powers being that they had taste buds and could eat, if they wanted to – and watched as the puppet leaned forward, eager to hear about whatever fate befell the guard. While the original animatronics weren't bad mechs, per say, they did have a glitch where they saw anyone in the restaurant at night as an endoskeleton and would try to put them back into costume. Gold tried to make sure they didn't succeed, but sometimes he slipped up and the guard died. Marionette didn't exactly advocate for the guards deaths, but it was always interesting to hear how the humans either avoided it, or how they reacted when they were caught for good.

"No, you didn't," the puppet purred, "Do tell."

"It's some kid, named Mike or Mark or something," Gold waved his hand, as though dashing away that detail as unimportant. "He's survived four nights so far. Four! And he's coming back tonight, apparently. He's a stubborn kid, apparently really needs the money for something."

"That's no small feat," Marionette agreed, topping off the bears cup from the teapot he'd summoned. It was decorated with dancing honey-colored bears in pink tutus. Years ago the pot had infuriated Gold, but now it just made him grin.

"Kid's got guts," the bear agreed, mixing in a lump of sugar. "Apparently he's homeless, too. Heard management talking 'bout how they'd seen him sleeping in an alley or something near the restaurant. They weren't too happy – were talking about firing him after tonight. Something about homeless vagrants being bad for business."

Marionette froze, his tea cup halfway to his mouth. "A homeless kid?" He asked, the cogs turning behind his mask.

"Yeah. I don't envy him, being stuck out in this weather." Gold nodded to the main room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed an icy evening beginning. "Hope the kid finds somewhere to stay soon; I heard some of the employees talking 'bout how it's supposed to start snowing tonight."

Marionette didn't answer – he had a thousand-yard stare going on, his eyes trained on something past Gold's shoulder. The bear rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, knowing that when the puppet started plotting something, it was dangerous to try and snap him out of it. He still had marks on his arm from where the angry puppet had bit him one time, though the bear had never puzzled out how he'd done it with that mask on.

"Gold," he finally said, his voice slow and far away, "Would it trouble you if I came by tonight? I believe I may have a – a _use_ for this young security guard."

"Really?" The bear raised a brow as he stared at the puppet over the rim of his teacup. "I didn't think you liked boys."

The puppets red cheeks glowed brightly as he caught what Gold was insinuating. "Not _that_ kind of use!" He snarled, throwing a chocolate biscuit at the bear. Once his friend had stopped laughing, Puppet leaned forward and whispered his plan, insisting that it be a surprise for the other Toys.

"Do you think the others will agree?" He finally asked, once everything had been laid out.

Gold leaned back, scratching at his chin in thought. "I think so. I mean, they still think this kids an endoskeleton. They won't bat an eye if I say you want to take care of it tonight."

Marionette sipped his tea through a wide grin, happy to have finally found a solution to his biggest problems. "Excellent. I'll be there tonight, shall we say, one o'clock?"

"I'll see you then," Gold tipped his hat as he drank the last of the tea. Without preamble, he vanished from sight, leaving Marionette to prepare for their new... _guest_.

* * *

 **AN: I really need to stop writing. So this little plot bunny bit me and wouldn't let go.**

 **Please REVIEW and let me know if you WANT TO SEE MORE! I have a few ideas for how this story could go, and I want to HEAR from the READERS about what they LIKED OR DISLIKED and how I can IMPROVE. THANKS in advance!**


	2. The Sixth Animatronic

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 2: A Sixth Animatronic**

Mike Schmidt hated the YMCA. The place hadn't done anything wrong, really, it just drove him mad that he didn't have any privacy when he stayed there. Free showers, clothes, and beds were nice, but there were others in the city who were down on their luck, and he always felt like they were staring at him when he took the bed in the far corner, where he could put his back to the wall and protect his backpack.

The paranoia had made for a poor sleep schedule, and a few weeks into his stay a few of the volunteers had begun to get suspicious. An older lady constantly asked to see his ID, and even though it showed that he was eighteen, she would sniff at it and hand it back with a wary look in her eyes. Soon after, Mike had decided to find somewhere else to stay – he didn't need a nosy old bat figuring out his ID was fake and four years off.

So Mike returned to wandering the streets, keeping his nose clean and working the kindness of strangers to get by. He didn't want to apply for a job – an ID was one thing, but a background check would reveal that he was a runaway who'd been missing for almost a year from a small house in Oregon. He found little odd jobs, like mowing lawns or washing cars, to get enough money for food. When the work was scarce, he'd gone to a little cafe near the south end of town that had a 'pay it forward' policy. Customers were able to pay for a meal or cup of coffee for those who didn't have the money to do so themselves. He'd visited often when he first reached the town, but after a police officer had asked his age, he'd tapered it off to once a week. Obviously the officer had mentioned his suspicions to the wait staff, because they'd begun to try and keep him in the cafe for a time, obviously waiting for a police officer to come by and take him in as a runaway. After a close call that involved him running through the kitchen and slipping out the backdoor, Mike had given up on the cafe as a safe place to eat.

The fourteen year old had used what money he had to buy cheap food from gas stations and grocery stores. He'd taken to only eating once a day, which had left him skinny as a stick and with pains in his stomach. Mike didn't mind, though; food once a day was better than food once a week. He gathered coupons from abandoned newspapers and the little kiosks the grocery stores had, using them to find what healthy stuff he could for cheap. That was how he found out at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

There was a coupon for a $5 large pizza (limit two (2) toppings) and a 2-liter soda. Mike had nearly jumped up and down at his luck. His fifteenth birthday was in two weeks, but the coupon expired in only a few days. He decided to celebrate early and, scraping together what he had, he walked to the busy side of town to get his meal.

The restaurant was shiny and relatively new, from what he understood. It was full of kids running around, yelling at the top of their lungs while eating pizza and cake. A band of three animatronics, who were a bit sauce-splattered and soda-soaked, were performing pizza-themed songs on a stage. Mike found himself completely distracted and staring at the stage for several minutes. A pretty waitress in a purple shirt and black slacks walked up to him, a thin smile stretched tight across her face.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. May I help you?"

"Oh, er, yeah, hi," the boy stuttered, holding up he paper. Unfortunately, he was holding up the wrong side. Instead of seeing the $5 coupon, the waitress saw a small classified ad.

"You're here about the job?" She asked skeptically. Before Mike could turn the paper around and correct her, she hollered for somebody to come and get him. A thick man in a collared shirt and a purple tie stomped over, barely avoiding a thrown slice of pizza as he moved. The waitress pointed to the paper then went back to her work. Mike wanted to run as the burly man stopped in front of him. He wasn't short, but he was thin, and he looked tiny beside the manager. "You want the night guard job, kid?" The man asked, brow raised.

Mike flipped the paper around so he could look at the ad. His eyes nearly bugged out - $120 a _week_? That was enough to eat more than once a day! He looked up at the manager, who was waiting impatiently. "Yes sir, I'm interested in the job."

"Cool. You're hired." The man patted his shoulder with a heavy hand. "Come in 'round 11 tonight and I'll show you the ropes."

"That – that's it? No papers or anything?" Mike asked, confused. The man shrugged.

"Nah, son. You look like a good kid." He waved the boy off. "Go get some sleep before your shift!"

Completely forgetting about his birthday pizza, Mike wandered out of the restaurant, stunned. He had not expected that. Lost in thought, he wandered towards the YMCA. He would have to avoid the nosy old lady, but if he was going to start a job, he wanted a shower and some clean clothes. Humming, he happily wandered down the sidewalks, glad that life was finally beginning to look up.

* * *

Friday night, Mike slumped into work half-an-hour early as usual. He didn't spare the stage a glance, knowing that those infernal animatronics would be up there for another half-hour before beginning their twisted little game. The teen stumbled down the west hallway. He stopped half-way down and pulled a length of metal cord from his backpack. He hammered it into the baseboard, creating a trip wire for that infernal fox. The sharp wire cut his fingers, but Mike hardly noticed. He hadn't been able to sleep more than a few hours the past four days – he'd nearly been caught at the YMCA again, so he was avoiding it and every other place that catered to the homeless population like the plague. He'd found a small alley near the restaurant that nobody bothered and had been sleeping there, but the constant nightmares caused by his new job had left him with only random snatched of undisturbed rest.

Wiping the blood off on his jeans, Mike stepped over the tripwire and wandered to the office. He still had fifteen minutes before the 'fun' started. He fell gracelessly into the office chair and pulled himself up to the desk, not bothering to remove his backpack. The dirty green bag had his entire life in it – money, ID, food, water, clothes, everything. If he ended up having to run for his life tonight, he didn't want to forget it.

The tablet that monitored the security cameras wouldn't be draining the power yet, so Mike flipped it on and focused on the main stage. The animatronics – Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie, according to the posters scattered about the restaurant – stood motionless under the stage lights, grinning dumbly at the empty room. Mike flicked over to the Pirates Cove cam, and saw that the purple curtains were shut tight with no sign of Foxy anywhere.

The tablet dropped to the desk and Mike leaned back, closing his eyes. He still had a few minutes before the 'fun' would start, which was plenty of time to worry. How was he going to make it through tonight? The animatronics apparently thought he was an 'endo' that needed to be shoved into one of the costumes in the back. He had taken a peek into one of the suits after his first shift, and found it full of sharp bars and crossbeams. He'd die within seconds if they tried to force him into one. The animatronics had been getting more and more active all week, moving more frequently and jumping from camera to camera much faster. Even Freddy had moved a bit last night, every motion heralded by his creepy laugh.

It didn't help that Phone Guy was, apparently, _dead_. The one person Mike had on his side in this twisted place had been killed by the very demons he was fighting against. He felt sick just thinking about the phone call he'd gotten last night. Listening to the man – who's name he didn't even know – being found and killed had set the teen on edge for the rest of the night. He'd almost been caught a handful of times thanks to Foxy's speed. Hopefully the tripwire would keep the pirate from getting him tonight.

His watch beeped, and with a groan Mike seized the tablet. He'd developed a pattern the past few nights, figuring out where the animatronics were most likely to be and checking only those spots and the door lights. He flicked to the stage, expecting it to be empty, and was stunned to see all three members of the band standing stiffly in their spots, unmoving. Confused, he flicked to Pirates Cove. It was equally still, the curtains not even stirring despite the mechanical fox surely being awake by now. Unnerved, Mike flipped between the Cove and the Stage, checking quickly every minute or so for movement.

The phone rang, scaring him out of his wits. Mike stared at the bulky corded phone as it rang once more, then clicked and began to play a recorded message. Instead of Phone Guys cheerful tone, a garbled tone babbled some nonsense in what the teen assumed was another language. He listened in horror as the odd voice finished its chant and the phone clicked off. He had no idea what had been said, or who had said it, and he _really_ didn't want to find out.

12:15 ticked past, and still no movement from the animatronics. Were they done chasing him, then? Mike kept up his new routine of flicking between the two cams every minute or so. The robots didn't even twitch as the camera switched on and off. Feeling as though time was sludging by at a snails pace, the teen didn't move his eyes from the tablet for the next half-hour. Finally, at 12:45, something happened.

A fifth animatronic appeared on the stage – one that Mike recognized, but hadn't realized actually existed. The golden bear had appeared to him on Wednesday night, scaring the crap out of him but not causing any actual harm. He'd written the thing off as a hallucination and had been quickly distracted by Bonnie trying to grab him. Now, the gold bear appeared to be – _talking_ with the other animatronics? Mike watched, bemused, as the bears jaw flapped up and down. There wasn't any sound on the cameras, so what ever the creature was saying was lost. The other animatronics turned and spoke with the gold bear, their joints relaxing as they apparently carried on a conversation.

Out of habit, Mike flicked the camera to look at Pirates Cove. The curtain was wide open, revealing an empty stage. He swore and slammed the left door shut, waiting for the inevitable banging as the pirate attacked. He was hoping that his tripwire would work to slow the fox down, maybe even damage the foxes legs so he couldn't run anymore. There was only silence for several minutes. He picked the tablet back up and flicked to the show stage. Foxy was there, standing among the others, his unhinged jaw flapping as he spoke.

Stunned, Mike opened the left door to avoid wasting more power. He kept his eyes glued to the tablet. It was nearly one in the morning now, and he had absolutely no idea what was going on.

There was a loud _POP!_ in the dining hall as a new animatronic appeared. This one was tall and willowy, dressed all in black with white stripes on its arms and legs. It's face was a mask, painted with rouge and lipstick, purple marks trailing down its cheeks. It sort of reminded Mike of those Judy-and-Punch puppets his history teacher had showed the class once, without the nose. The other animatronics seemed to greet it cheerfully as it approached the stage, it's mouth moving oddly as it spoke with them.

Mike's nose was nearly touched the screen as he watched the gathering with growing alarm. There were _six_ of them now? How the hell was he supposed to fend off _six_ animatronics? He gulped when the puppet thing glanced over it's shoulder and made eye contact with the camera. The puppet thing smiled wider, then tilted his head. The camera cut to black, and loud static erupted from the monitor. Mike swore and dropped it to the desk, rubbing at his buzzing ears. Once the sound had ceased, he picked it back up and turned it on. The dining hall was still up, but the puppet thing had gone. The five animatronics were still standing on the stage, but instead of talking they all looked at the camera with creepy smiles and pitch-black eyes.

"Oh no, oh fuck, where did it go?" Mike flipped through all the cameras rapidly, even the kitchen camera, but the puppet-thing didn't appear on any of them. "Damn, he disappeared!" The boy lingered on the bathroom hallway, wondering if the puppet thing had to make a pit stop on his way to shove the teen into a new suit. "Nope, nope, not thinking about that." He growled, standing up and slamming the tablet onto the desk. The dining hall flashed up again, and the animatronics were still on the stage, staring at the camera. Mike adjusted the straps on his backpack and turned on the light for the left door. He peered down the hall – no one was in sight. If he made a run for it, he could reach the front doors and escape before the animatronics noticed him. All he'd have to do is flip the deadbolt on the door and he was home free.

Footsteps from the right hall lit a fire under his feet, and Mike took off. He heard something enter the office but ignored any words it may have said, the pounding of his heart drowning out all other sound. Quick, light footsteps were following him, but he shoved the thought of being chased out of his head. He just had to focus on the door. Focus on the door. Focus on the door.

That mantra filled his head, forcing out all other thoughts, including the memory of the tripwire he had set up a mere hour before. His foot caught on the wire, which ripped through his khaki pants and tore up the skin on his ankle. The teen went sprawling, barely catching himself before his head bounced off the dirty tiles. He rolled onto his back with a groan, pulling his foot free from the wire that had been yanked from the wall. The footsteps slowed as the puppet thing approached him, looking down from his dizzying height. He had to have been at least eight feet tall – his masked head almost brushed the ceiling. Mike did his best to move back, crab-walking into the wall before unsteadily pulling himself to his feet. His bleeding ankle protested at having weight put on it, but the teen ignored it in favor of staring up at what was surely his death.

The puppet thing smiled happily at him and daintily stepped over the trip wire. He reached out a three-fingered hand and rested it on Mike's shoulder. The boy flinched away from the touch, trying to slip out from beneath the things hand. Before he could even attempt to make a second run for it, the puppet thing put his other hand on Mikes other shoulder, pinning him in place against the wall.

"You're _perfect_!" The puppet exclaimed as he looked Mike up and down. The boy had absolutely no idea what it was referring to, but he was willing to bet the thing was sizing him up for a suit. The puppet yanked him away from the wall and, to the teens astonishment, pulled him into a hug. "The others will just _love_ you!" The puppet purred, petting Mike with one hand while holding him close with the other. "You're going to solve everything, I just know it." The puppet held him at arms length once more. Seeing the boy had his backpack on, he figured there was nothing else he needed to grab while here. "Let's go home, Mikey!"

The five animatronics on the stage watched as the boy mouthed the word 'home' in confusion before the puppet poofed them both away. Freddy dusted off his top-hat (out of habit, mind; he would never allow it to actually _become_ dusty) and placed it neatly between his ears.

"Well," he finally interrupted the pleasant silence, "that's one way to get rid of an endo."

The five, free from their job of haunting the night guard, dispersed to their own chores and hobbies. Only Golden Freddy remained on the stage, an amused smile quirking at his lips. He did hope the puppet knew what he was getting into with this half-cocked scheme of his.

* * *

 **AN: WOW! Thank you SO MUCH for the response, you guys! I was delighted to wake up this morning and see so many reviews. They really lit a fire under me, and I couldn't wait to get this chapter done. I hope y'all enjoy it!**

 **Reviews are WELL LOVED and CUDDLED and SO SO SO APPRECIATED! And thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter!**


	3. A New Home

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 3: A New Home**

Mike wasn't sure what had just happened. One minute he'd been pinned against the thin, bony chest of a puppet animatronic, being told they were 'going home.' Before he could protest that the thing had the wrong Mike (never Mikey, always Mike!), he'd been swept away in a sickening blur of color. Now he was on his hands and knees, throwing up what remained of his gas-station burrito dinner onto stained tiles. A three-fingered hand was patting his back, cooing nonsensical comforts in his ear. The world kept tilting left and right, refusing to calm down as he coughed up what little was in his stomach.

As up and down slowly separated themselves, Mike felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. He slowly lifted his head, stopping when four pair of large inhuman feet came into view. The pair closest to him were brown and had four fat toes, which had small, rounded claws at the end. Beside the paws what he thought were supposed to be bird feet; they were orange, wide and flat and went up to a pair of yellow, feathery knees. Beside the bird feet were more paws – blue this time, with dashes of white on the underside that flashed as the animatronic tapped his foot impatiently. Beside the blue paws was a pair of brown, oddly-shaped half-spheres that were attached to what appeared to be plastic jeans.

These were not the animatronics Mike had gotten used to over the past five days, but he was certain they were similar. They had joints at the ankles and knees, just like the ones that stood on the stage and glared at him. At a snails pace, Mike's eyes trailed up the four sets of legs (one noticeably shorter than the others) to look his apparent kidnappers in the face.

The first thing that stood out was the make-up; each of the animatronics had spots of bright red blush on their cheeks, beside startlingly bright eyes. They were also much less... _soft_ looking than the Fazbear Band where he worked. Instead, they had a shiny, plastic-y appearance. All eight eyes were locked on him as they leaned forward, like trees bending in a heavy wind. Mike's heart sped up as he realized the unnaturally-tall puppet thing was behind him, also leaning over, creating a prison with no chance of escape.

A vision of a Freddy Fazbear suit, sans endoskeleton, popped into Mikes head, and he had to drop his gaze as his stomach twisted once more. He dry-heaved several times, acid burning the back of his throat as he tried to banish the thought of only his eyeballs and teeth being visible as he rotted away inside a plastic jail cell. The three-fingered hand returned, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

"Marion, what is going on? Who is that?" The voice that spoke sounded, for all intents and purposes, female, though there was a scratchy quality not unlike a broken record that fuzzed in and out. The puppet thing, whom Mike assumed was being addressed, since he was the only animatronic who apparently knew what was going on, didn't answer. Instead he waited until Mike had finished being sick, then hauled him upright as though the teen weighed less than a feather.

"This," the puppet, apparently named Marion, announced with a grand sweep of his arm, "Is Mikey. He's the newest addition to our family!" He kept one arm tight around the teens shoulder, preventing him from bolting while he could.

Despite being upright, Mike still felt dwarfed and trapped by the tall animatronics. They were all staring at him intently, processing what the apparent leader of the little group had said. The teen shrunk under their gaze, hoping that the puppet would drop his arm, but instead the grip around his shoulders only tightened. Mike glanced up, meaning to glare at the puppet, but instead he spotted yet another animatronic clinging to the ceiling. This one was badly damaged – it barely had any of it's suit left. Only it's head and feet remained. There was a second head poking out of one shoulder. Each of the heads had one eye, and both of those eyes were firmly trained on him.

A hand on his cheek brought his focus back to the floor. He jerked his head away from the yellow chicken animatronic. Unlike Chica, this one was skinny and the pelvic plating of her suit was painted bright pink, resembling a bikini bottom or a pair of short-shorts. The three large feathers sticking out of the top of her head waved as she dropped her arm and took a step back, sensing his discomfort.

"Marion," ah, this was the one that had spoken earlier, with the scratchy female voice, "he's burning up. I think he needs to lay down."

The puppet removed his arm from Mike's shoulder, but before the teen could bolt the cold fingers brushed against his forehead. "Hmm, you're right, Chicky." He brushed Mike's dark brown bangs away from his eyes. "Why don't you help him to his room? I'm sure he'd like to rest and settle in." His voice softened as he continued to speak, as though convinced that Mike couldn't hear him if he stage-whispered. "I think we're over-whelming him a bit."

"His room?" Chicky had stepped forward once more, and wrapped one of her hands around Mike's bicep. He absently noted that her arms were like Chica's – a wave of yellow feathers, carefully sewn into a thin bit of tulle, fell from her wrist to where the arm jointed to the shoulder, creating 'wings' for the chicken.

"Yes," Marion stepped to the side and motioned to the long hallway behind him. Mike could see that there were two doors on each side, leading to rooms that were dark at the moment. The far end of the hall had no door. Instead, a sky-blue curtain had been hung up, hiding whatever was inside. "I fixed up the office for him earlier. I'm sure he'll find it perfect." The puppet went back to his stage-whispering. "After all, anything has to be better than sleeping in an _alley_."

"An alley? Oh, you poor boy!" The chicken pulled Mike into a tight hug. "Don't worry Mikey, you'll always have a room here! We look after each other, right guys?"

The other animatronics nodded, each with varying degrees of worry and concern on their faces. Satisfied with the non-verbal answers, Chicky wrapped her hand back around the teens bicep and led him down the hall. "Come with me, love. We'll get you all set up so you can rest." She put the back of her free hand against his cheek, then his forehead. "Oh you're burning up, you need to get a good nights sleep. That fixes everything!"

Mike had no choice but to walk with the chicken – she had a firm grip on his arm, which he was reluctantly grateful for. His head was still reeling from everything that had happened in the past, what, ten minutes? Chicky's grip kept him upright as they approached the curtain. She grabbed one edge and swept it open, revealing an average sized room, much to Mike's surprise. He'd been expecting this to all be some sort of elaborate scam, a last bit of kindness before they killed him. By Mike's 'room' he'd assumed they'd meant the torture chamber where they'd shove him into a suit, ridiculing him all the while.

Instead, he was met with what he supposed was a bedroom. The floor was the same black and white tile as the rest of the building, and the walls had the same white paint. A desk was shoved against one wall, though he could tell it had once been the center point of the room – there were long scratched on the floor from where the furniture had been moved aside. A metal desk fan was set on one side, while the rest of the desks surface was taken up with what appeared to be little plushy figures and plastic models of the animatronics – both the plastic ones here, and the evil ones from his job.

In one corner was a shelf, on which were more knick-knacks, a broken computer tablet, some kids books, and a handful of toys. In the other corner, as far from the door as possible, was a _bed_. Mike felt his knees go weak at the prospect of sleeping on a mattress instead of concrete, even if it was just for a few hours so he could puzzle a way out of this mess. There was not bed frame, just a thick mattress on the ground. A conglomerate of pillows and blankets were tucked around it, making it look more like a nest than a bed. All the sheets, blankets, and pillow cases were different colors, and Mike tried not to gag at the thought that it looked like a sick unicorn had thrown up all over it.

Chicky made a bee-line for the bed, and Mike willingly allowed himself to be dragged there. She released his arm, but before he could flop face-first on the bed and sleep (he was already dead-tired on his feet, Morpheus did not seem far off), the chicken was yanking at his backpack.

"Wha-" He winced, quickly untangling the straps from his arms and allowing it to slide off.

"You can't sleep with your backpack on, silly!" Chicky explained cheerfully as she set the battered backpack in the rolling desk chair. "Now off with that sweater. I don't want you getting too warm while you rest." She reached out to grab at his sweatshirt, making Mike backpedal furiously.

"I got it," he muttered, hurriedly unzipping the bulky jacket he'd gotten at Goodwill a few weeks before. He yanked it off and stood by the bed, holding it awkwardly, unsure what the chicken wanted to do with it.

"Oh you poor dear!" Apparently, the chicken wanted another hug. She squeezed him gently, then smoothed his bangs back from his forehead and looked down at him with an odd expression. "You are much, _much_ too thin, Mikey!" She took the jacket from his hands and tossed it over the back of the chair. "Well don't you worry none, your big sisters Chicky and Mangle will take care of that!" She poked his stomach, and the boy wanted desperately to back up from this odd bird, but the bed was right behind him and he didn't want to be lying down with her standing up. Their height difference was already unnerving him.

"Chicky, is he still awake?" The... _thing_ that had been on the ceiling early came into the room, ducking through the curtain before continuing to climb along the ceiling. It apparently had two legs and three arms, plus the extra head. Four limbs clung to the ceiling tiles, while the fifth held a glass of water. "Oh, you are, dear. Poor thing," she purred, just like the chicken, and through some miracle feat of engineering swung down so she was almost eye-level with him, though still hanging from the ceiling. "Here, I brought you some water. It's not good to be sick like that, you could get dehydrated." She pressed the cup into his numb hands.

Mike looked down at the cup – it was plastic, with dancing cartoon versions of the animatronics printed on the outside. A kiddy cup. He pondered the likelihood of the water being poisoned – a place like this had to have cleaning chemicals, right? Then, he wondered if poison would be such a bad way to go out. It would be faster and far less painful than being shoved in a suit. Acutely aware of the two animatronics watching him, he brought the cup to his lips and sniffed discreetly. It smelled like water and cheap plastic. He gulped, and took a sip.

No odd taste, no burning, no sudden pain in his stomach (other than the dull ache he was used to from always being hungry). He took a second, longer sip, trying not to notice how the two animatronics looked happy at that. He drained the cup and handed it back to the fox, who patted him on the head with one hand and a happy 'good boy.'

"You lay down and get some rest, Mikey," Chicky prompted when he didn't move, bending past him to fold the blankets back. The teen slowly sat down on the bed, not liking that the two animatronics now towered over him, but honestly too tired to care at the moment. When neither of them left, he toed off his shoes and socks, then hesitantly laid down on the bed. It was a bit lumpy, but comfortable none the less.

Chicky leaned over him and pulled the blankets up, tucking them around his stiff form. "There you go, love," she cooed, patting his head. "I promise, after some sleep you'll feel right as rain!"

Mike closed his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. He heard the two animatronics leave, and a second later the lights in the room dimmed. He squinted in the sudden darkness, and saw glow-in-the-dark stars hanging from the ceiling. They were dangling above the bed, in all different colors – yellow, blue, pink, green. The teen knew he should be up and moving, trying to find a way out of this crazy place, but the bed was so comfortable, and the blankets were heavy and warm.

The stars above him blurred as he tiredly shut his eyes and rolled over, pondering at the idea of a giant mechanical chicken tucking him in to bed. From the shadows, the puppet watched with a satisfied smile as the boy feel asleep.

Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

 **AN: I am completely overwhelmed by the positive response this story has gotten! Thank you all so, so much for the reviews!**

 **I don't know how often I'll get to update this; I'm working two jobs, plus college. I'll try and get more up before my classes start.**

 **Please REVIEW with what you THINK about this! I'd really love some feedback. Y'all are AWESOME READERS!**


	4. Home Sweet Home?

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 4: Home Sweet Home?**

The Marionette hummed happily as he wandered into the main hall, his spirits greatly lifted. The boy had fallen asleep soon after Chicky had (to the puppets delight) tucked him in. He could already see that the teen would fit into their family without a problem – both girls adored him, and once Teddy, Blue, and BB got to know him, they would be one big, happy family.

All five animatronics were gathered on the stage, waiting for him. Someone had cleaned up the sick from Mike's bout of nausea. He did feel a little bad for making the boys stomach upset, but he hadn't expected that kind of reaction to a simple teleportation spell. Then again, the animatronics didn't have stomachs, maybe that was why they didn't throw up when they were moved.

"Marion!" BB jumped off the stage, calling his name in a sing-song voice. He ran over to the puppet and held up his arms, demanding to be picked up. The older animatronic happily did so, settling him on his hip and carrying him back over to the stage. Chicky, once she was sure Mike couldn't see her, had grabbed the battered backpack and brought it back to the stage. She had dumped it out and they were going through the contents, looking for – well, Marion wasn't sure _what_. Chicky and Mangle were sorting through what the teen had, while Teddy and Blue watched, picking items up and examining them curiously when it caught their attention.

"He doesn't have much," Chicky muttered, folding his spare jeans and putting them on top of a couple t-shirts.

"Probably because he doesn't have a lot of money," Mangle pulled a thin wallet from the pile. It was black, made of fake leather and silver fastenings. She opened it and dumped out a handful of bills: a five and three ones. Eight dollars in all, plus a few dirty coins. A blood donor card and a license fell as well, clattering against the wood. Teddy snapped up the license, examining it closely.

"This says the boy is over eighteen," he waved the plastic square at Marion, eyes narrowed. "Thought you said he was a kid?"

"He is." Marion set BB down on the stage and took the license, examining it closely before handing it back. "This is a fake – he must have bought it so adults would think he was old enough to be on his own."

"So he's lying?" Chicky snorted in disapproval. "He'll be spending time in the corner for that when he wakes up!"

"No, he won't," Marion corrected, sitting down and completing their little circle. "Mikey was merely trying to survive. The world outside these walls can be scary and dangerous. He did what he had to in order to protect himself."

Chicky looked down, a bit chastised, but quickly found something else to worry about. "Look at this food!" She held up a bag of fifty-cent chips and some Slim Jims. "None of this is healthy!"

"It's not supposed to be," Blue grabbed the chips from her and inspected them closely. "That's why they call it 'junk food.'" He tossed the chips back on the pile of food, which Chicky was building upon as she found a few granola bars and some type of 'gummy' energy chews.

Marion sighed as he looked over the few things the child owned. Only the bare necessities – clothes, food, a bottle of water, some money; nothing more than what he absolutely had to have. The backpack was empty now, only containing a small hole in the bottom. Using his long limbs, he grabbed the green bag and swept the food, water, and clothes back into it. Mangle slipped the bills and blood donor card back into the wallet and handed it over. Teddy reached out to put the license back in the wallet as well, but the puppet stopped him.

"I want to hold on to this, just in case," the license vanished from between his fingers, which didn't surprise the others at all. Marion often used his magic to move things to and from his box, or even around the restaurant, instead of simply walking over and doing it manually.

"Just in case of what?" Blue asked, raising a brow. "What kind of trouble could the kid get into here?"

"It's not _here_ I'm worried about," Marion glanced at the doors, which were locked and boarded up. Snow had begun to fall beyond the windows, coating the quiet street in sparkling white. "It's the world out there that concerns me."

* * *

For one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, Mike Schmidt thought he was back in his bed in Oregon. He lay still in a slightly-lumpy bed, comfortably warm beneath a pile of blankets. His eyes remained firmly shut, breathing becoming shallow as unfamiliar smells and sounds assaulted him. He tried to remember where he was, searching every recess of his mind for an explanation that didn't include the word 'home.'

Puppet.

Mike pulled in a deep breath, hissing between his teeth as he remembered the puppet-thing grabbing him during his shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. It had latched onto him and whisked them off to this run-down building, where five other animatronics apparently lived. Then the chicken had tucked him into bed, leaving him to have a dream-free sleep for the first time in weeks.

He remained laying in the warmth of the lumpy bed, turning over what had happened in his mind. His dark brown eyes stared, unfocused, at the white back wall of what puppet-thing had called the 'office.' So, for four nights he'd been stalked by animatronic monsters hell-bent on killing him. Then, on night five, a puppet from what could only be a circus in the ninth circle of Hell had popped up and kidnapped him. Now he was in a decaying building with six monsters and no knowledge of how to escape or survive.

Mike dragged his arm out from under the blanket, shivering as his skin emerged into the cool air. He squinted at his watch – it was an old digital watch he'd gotten from his Grandfather for his fifth birthday. At the time he'd thought it a stupid gift (though he'd thanked his papa for it anyways), but now he appreciated it. The clock showed the time was 11:13 at night. He'd slept almost a whole day away.

The teen dragged himself upright, shrugging off the blankets. The office was empty of any animatronics or demon-puppets. His shoes and socks were still lying on the ground beside the mattress. Quietly, he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and began to pull the holey socks over his feet. His shoes – sneakers with permanently-knotted laces that he simply pulled on instead of properly tying – quickly followed. His backpack and jacket were still on his chair. Keeping an eye on the curtained doorway, he crept to the desk and pulled both on. Then, gathering every bit of courage he possessed, he snuck into the hall.

There was absolutely no sound in the building. The hall was dark and empty; the lights to the small rooms on each side were out. Mike slowly crept towards the end of the hall, the hairs on his arms standing up. The silence was unnerving, and he tried to puzzle out a reason for it. He glanced at his watch again, then nearly tripped as genius struck.

It was _before_ midnight! At the pizzeria, the animatronics could only move after midnight and before six. If this place was anything like Fazbear's Pizzeria, then the five would be shut down in their normal spots for the next half-hour or so. That was plenty of time to escape and catch a bus out of town. As long as the puppet-thing was inactive, he was home free.

Mike broke into a soft run, trying to keep the worn soles of his sneakers from slapping against the tiles. The hall turned to the right, past a pair of bathrooms and something called a 'parts/services room.' A few more steps and he was in the large, main area of the building. Like the store where he worked, a stage took up one wall of the room, while tables and chairs filled the rest. The curtain was closed, apparently hiding the animatronics from sight. There was a miniature carousel and a bunch of arcade games in one corner, and double-doors with circular windows under a sign that read 'kitchen.'

None of that could draw his attention, however; he only had eyes for the exit. Mike gave up the spy act and ran past the tables. As he grew closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the glass entrance doors, he forced himself to slow. A few of the windows were actually boarded up, with long bits of lumber nailed over broken panes. There was a thick bit of wood barring the front doors as well, keeping them shut.

The lack of an exit wasn't the only thing that brought the teen to a halt. Outside of the building, a dead-quiet street was covered in at least two feet of snow. The boys jaw dropped as he stared at the sparkling white covering, which was reflecting the moonlight and creating a picturesque scene for all to enjoy.

Even if he was able to escape, Mike would most likely freeze to death before he reached a safe place to bunker down. He didn't have much fat, leaving him to rely on his clothes for warmth. Even if he layered his spare jeans and extra t-shirts, he wouldn't keep insulated enough to survive.

The boy pressed his hands against the cold glass, then allowed his head to drop against the window. His shoulders slumped, leaving him looking like a forlorn puppy who had just been denied a bone. He was trapped in this place with no way out for who-knows how long.

"What'sa matter, boy?"

The boy screamed (a manly scream, he would insist if anybody questioned him) and instinctively lunged away from the voice. His forehead bounced off the chilly window, and he stumbled back dizzily, the snow flakes falling outside dancing oddly in his eyes. Something large and round was standing behind him, and as he bumped against it, a pair of large brown paws grabbed his shoulders.

"Whoa there, boy," the deep southern voice chuckled, "no' so fast."

Mike's stomach plunged to his toes at the voice. It had the unmistakable undertone of steel and electricity that outed the 'thing' as being an animatronic. The boy immediately began to thrash against the paws, straining against the tight hold. The animatronic grunted in surprise and lifted his paws, and the sudden lack of restraint sent the teen falling. He caught himself before he could faceplant, and hurriedly flipped over so he was looking up at the animatronic that had snuck up on him.

It was the shiny, plastic version of Freddy, and all of a sudden the boys vision wavered, and _he was in the office, clutching the tablet like his life depended on it, his breath quick as the power-bar ticked down. There was only 2% left, and still ten minutes until six. Freddy Fazbear was on the move, his deep laugh echoing through the halls as he time ticked down. The power bar was shrinking – 1% now, and nine minutes to go. There were heavy steps in the hall, and a large figure moved past the window. The bear had given up creeping – he strolled into the doorway, a cocky grin on his lips as he peered down his muzzle at the night guard._

 _Mike clutched the monitor, eyes widening as the bear took a step into the dusty room. He looked around in boredom as the last little bit of power was drained. There was a heavy hum, followed by every light in the building going dark. The guard sat in darkness for a moment, unsure of what was going to happen now – without power, would the animatronics shut down? Was he safe?_

 _Then a strained tune began to play, a tinkling as though it were from an old-fashioned music box. Freddy reappeared as his mask flashed in tune with the notes, creating a demonic melody and show. Mike shoved his back into the chair, breath escaping him – the bear was only inches from him now, his flashing face close enough to touch. The guard used his toe to push the rolling chair back, but for every centimeter he moved, the animatronic followed. His vicious mouth was turned up in a slasher-esque grin, delight clear in his glass eyes._

 _This odd dance was drawn out, the music slowing ever-so-slightly so the bear could enjoy this more. Eventually the tune drew to a quiet end, and Freddy disappeared into the darkness. Mike stayed seated, his eyes darting left and right as he tried to figure out where the animatronic had gone. There was a long moment of silence, before_

 _RAAAAAAAUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!_

 _Freddy leapt out of the darkness, his face illuminated by something otherworldly, and lunged at Mike, his eyes completely black and his hands outstretched to grab his neck. The boy threw himself backwards with a screech. Just as the clawed fingers closed around his trachea, there was another hum, and the lights flared on. Six chimes rung out, along with the cheering of the children. Freddy and Mike were left staring at each other, their inches mere noses apart._

 _The bear dropped his arms, his eyes glazed over as though he were millions of miles away. Without another word or sound, the bear straightened, turned on his heel and left the office. Mike, with damp legs and tears in his eyes, stared in shock as the murderous animatronic left. The second he had the room to himself, he began to shake._

"Boy? Ye' with me, boy? Eh, snap outta it!"

Wait. He wasn't shak _ing_ , he was being shak _en_. Mike blinked, his eyes (which had gone distanced and unfocused as he stared off at nothing, frightening the animatronic bear) refocusing on the large animatronic kneeling before him. The Freddy-Clone had his large hands on the boys shoulders, and had been gently shaking him to snap him out of that intense flashback of his fourth night at work. As soon as he met Mike's eyes, he stilled his hands.

"There ya' are," he sighed in relief, gently squeezing the boys shoulders. "Jesus, Mikey, ya' sure know how to scare a guy!" His friendly smile dropped when he saw the tears gathering in the child's eyes. "Mikey?" He nearly panicked when the boy leaned forward, clutching at his chest. "Mikey!"

He couldn't _breath_. His lungs felt like shriveled raisins, and it was impossible to draw in enough air. The bear was asking him what was wrong, but honestly, couldn't the stupid animatronic _see_ that the air had all disappeared from the room, and that the lights were flickering and that his heart was beating at light speed? His stomach, despite still being empty from the day before, twisted and tried to turn itself inside out.

Mike felt himself being pulled forward. A gentle hand put pressure on his back, guiding him down to put his head between his knees. A voice was saying something over and over again. He forced himself to focus on the sound, and the air re-appeared in the room. Several shaky breaths made the black that was crowding around his vision disappear, and his heart began to slow to something that resembled normal speeds.

"-there ya go now, Mikey. Just take a deep breath and hold it. One. Two. Three. Now let it out." The Freddy-Clone had pulled the guard against his side, and was patting his back and speaking to him in a soft, worried voice. Mike followed his instructions, feeling the pain in his chest seeping away.

"Wha' happened?" He finally managed to croak. The hand on his back stilled for a second, then began to rub a circle around his shoulder blades.

"Ya' had a panic attack." The bear kept his voice matter-of-fact, as though he saw them every day. When Mike didn't react, he kept going. "You wanna tell me wha' set you off there?"

Mike didn't respond. He kept his eyes trained on his shoes as he ran the words through his head. Panic attack? He'd never had one of those before, and his father was _far_ scarier than Freddy, no matter how tall the animatronic was. Why'd he flip out like that? It was stupid – what was wrong with him? Without realize it, he leaned into the Freddy-Clone, his thoughts a million miles away.

The hand stopped rubbing, and instead an arm fell around his shoulders, a comforting weight to keep him calm. The bear softly began to hum, and both sat there in their own thoughts as midnight ticked by.

* * *

 **AN: I am ASTOUNDED by the response to this story! I'm so happy you all are enjoying it. I promise, there will be fluff, drama, betrayal, angst, and more fluff in the future! I'm still working out some later details, but I have the big plot points sussed out already.**

 **Please REVIEW if you're ENJOYING IT! I really, really APPRECIATE it! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for the reviews I've already received. They are read, re-read, worshiped, and appreciated!**


	5. A Hot Meal

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 5: A Hot Meal**

From his box in the Prize Corner, Marionette had a perfect view of the front doors of the building. He happily watched as Teddy comforted the boy and helped him through his panic attack. The bear had a way with children the others lacked – Chica and Bonnie could make any child smile and laugh, and Mangle would tell jokes until she got a grin, but only Freddy could truly handle a child in crisis.

That was most certainly what Mikey was – a child in crisis, in serious need of a loving family and a safe home. The puppet could already picture it – Teddy as the stern but loving father; Mangle stepping into the role of the caring, kind mother; Chicky playing the hyper big sister; Blue being the snarky older brother with a hidden heart of gold; and BB being the younger brother, allowing Mike to learn responsibility and patience as he cared for the little animatronic.

Marion would be the uncle. Doting, able to get away with giving a little extra at times, always there when Mike needed a bit of a break from the others. He would be the voice of reason, guiding Mike to proper adulthood as he grew from a scrawny fourteen-year-old to a stunning young man. He would also be the one Mike would love the most, if everything went right, though he would never tell the other animatronics that. It wouldn't do for them to become jealous.

The animatronics at the currently operating restaurant might hold a place in their family as well, if their glitched night-mode was ever fixed. Mike would find himself a herd of uncles and a Betty-Crocker aunt if Gold was able to smack some sense into those old model processors. Marion and Gold had tried to fix them before, but it hadn't worked – in fact, they'd mistakenly ramped up the horror against one unfortunate night guard, setting all the animatronics night-mode AI's to 20 by accident. He'd made it out by the skin of his teeth, and had never returned.

 _You're doing it again_.

Marion didn't flinch at the voice that echoed from his own mind, having long grown used to it. "Doing what?" He muttered back, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't disturb the duo by the door.

 _Meddling._

The puppet 'hmphed' and sunk a bit lower in his box, so only his eyes and the top of his mask were poking out. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

 _Really now? You've kidnapped a child and have some insane idea about forcing Stockholm Syndrome on him in order to create a new family member for yourself. Are you going to shove him in a suit too?_

"I hadn't planned on it," Marion traced a long finger down the inside of his box, his thoughts whirling. "Then again, he _is_ mortal right now...he'll grow up and leave eventually. If he was one of us, he would have to stay-"

 _Whoa, back up, that was NOT a suggestion!_

"-but that would defeat the purpose of having a human here for the others to entertain in the first place. I may have a spell that would keep him human _and_ immortal..."

 _An eternal prisoner? I'm sure he'll thank you for that..._

"-I bet there's a de-aging spell in one of my books too-"

 _You can't do that!_

The puppet hummed to himself, drowning out the voice as he quietly shut the lid and descended to the second floor of his box.

The box actually had many floors, created by magic and layered one on top of the other in what was called 'pocket space.' Soon after coming into being, Golden Freddy had become Marion's mentor, introducing him to a whole network of ghouls, ghosts, apparitions, demons, and so forth that haunted the shadowy realms of the world. He'd quickly found other mentors, all who taught him the fundamentals of magic, as well as a few advanced spells. There was a thriving book-trade between the spirits, and he'd managed to find a place he rather liked in Hong-Kong that traded spell and potion tomes for interesting stories or tales from the buyer. Luckily, the pizzeria had given him plenty of those. One whole floor of his box was dedicated to a library, which was as big as the security office and crammed full of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a comfortable armchair.

 _This is a bad idea. He'll hate you for it._

"Oh hush," Marion entered what he considered his sanctuary from the craziness outside and began to peruse the shelves, searching the flecking gold print on the bindings and occasionally pulling out a hand-written manuscript to flip through. "I'm giving the boy everything he ever wanted when he was younger – his own bedroom, a safe home, a loving family, three square meals a day..."

 _Gilded bars still make a prison_.

The puppet pulled down a heavy, leather-bound tome and grinned in victory. "Finally!" He flipped open the book and ran a finger down the table of contents, before turning to page eighty-seven. A complex spell was outlined, as well as a required potion and a few sundries that weren't required, but made the transformation easier on the target.

 _He will hate you for this._

The voice was like a mosquito – always there, buzzing in his ear, and impossible to get rid of permanently.

"He will learn to appreciate this chance," Marion insisted, marking the page and tucking the book under his arm. "After all, who would want to give up a chance at a second childhood?" Ignoring the voices reply, he made his way to his lab and began to brew what would certainly be the solution to all little Mikey's problems.

* * *

Mike's stomach grumbled miserably, reminding the boy that he hadn't eaten in a little over twenty-four hours. He blinked, then wondered when he had shut his eyes. Beside him the Freddy-Clone chuckled, his plastic belly wobbling a bit.

"It sounds like yer a mite hungry there, boy," he chuckled in a kind, southern drawl. The bear pulled his arm away from Mike's shoulders and stood, stretching his back. The human could hear a few of the springs and cogs pop back into place, before a brown paw was thrust in his face. He jerked back, instinctively shutting his eyes and waiting for a cuff to the head. "Jesus, boy, yer jumpier 'en a jackrabbit."

Embarrassed, Mike opened his eyes and looked at the paw. Freddy-Clone was simply standing there, waiting patiently. After a short moments hesitation, he grabbed the bears hand and was easily pulled to his feet. The other paw patted threw itself around his shoulder, and the animatronic began leading him to the kitchen doors.

"Cheek's 'as been up fer hours, tryin' to figure out wha' you'd like ta eat," the bear chuckled, his tone light. "You got 'er all in a tizzy."

"Oh, er, I'm sorry?"

"Nah boy, don' be sorry. I'm 'appy to see 'er actin' like this! Been a dogs age since she's been 'cited to be cookin' fer someone again." The bear pushed one of the swinging doors open and ushered Mike in. "'ere he is, Chicky, ready ta be fattened up!"

The skinny chicken animatronic in the hot-pink short-shorts that had helped him to bed and tucked him in last night was standing beside an oven, wearing a frilly pink apron, and just pulling out a small pizza. Steam was rolling off it in tantalizing waves, and as the smell hit his nose Mike's mouth began to water.

"Teddy!" The chicken beamed at the bear, and Mike tucked the name away to analyze later. "What took so long? Was Mr. Mikey there not ready to wake up?" She put the pizza down on the central counter of the large, industrial kitchen. There were two other pizzas, some sort of pie, and a tray of cupcakes sitting out as well, all freshly made. Chicky crossed the room and patted Mike's cheek gently with a hand, a giggle in her voice. "That's okay, a growing boy needs his rest, after all!"

She took his hand and pulled him away from Teddy to the counter that currently held enough food to feed the entire day-shift at Freddy's. Instead of trying to yank his hand away or run like he had when Teddy had grabbed him earlier, Mike allowed her to pull him around, push him onto a stool, and fret about his hair (which was sticking up every-which-way like a ruffled bird). The memory of her tucking him into a soft bed, of humming gently while pulling the blankets up around his ears was still very clear in his mind. He couldn't imagine anybody who could tuck him in like that would do anything bad to him. At least, not on purpose.

"What would you like to eat, dear?" Chicky had retrieved a paper-plate from one of the cabinets and was waiting for him to decide. He looked at the pizza she'd just pulled from the oven – a supreme, with sausage, bacon, pepperoni, onions, green peppers, and lots of cheese. He pointed to it, already salivating, and she quickly cut it into eighths and handed him two slices. "There you are, be careful though, it's hot!" She busied herself pouring him a glass of water in the same kiddy cup from the night before.

Mike forced himself to wait a minute as the pizza cooled, blowing on it to chill it faster. As soon as the steam had slowed, he picked up a slice and took as mall bite. All of his will power was restrained as he delicious medley of meat, veggies, sauce, and cheeses exploded in his mouth. He'd done this before – eaten a meal after going days without, and the first time he'd stuffed himself at a soup kitchen, then ended up puking up everything but his small intestines in an alley not five minutes after he left. It was better to pace himself and test the limits of his shrunken stomach.

So he nibbled, making sure that not a drop of sauce of string of cheese was wasted. He made it halfway through the second slice of pizza before he had to call it quits – despite the amazing taste and medley of delicious toppings, his stomach was telling him to stop. Mike set the slice back down on the plate and pushed it away.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Chicky chided, scooting the plate back in front of him. "We clean our plates here at Freddy's Family Pizzeria! You have to eat everything."

Mike hunched over, staring at the slice. It wasn't a lot, really, but he was sure to puke if he tried to force anything more down his gullet. "Please, Miss, uh, Chicken, I'm full, really! I can't eat anymore."

"But you barely ate anything!" She scolded, her hands on her hips. "And it's _Chicky_ , not Miss Chicken!"

"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in front of him, nervously aware of how volatile women could be when their cooking was called into question. "The pizza is really, _really_ good, but I'm full. If I eat anything else, I might, uh, sick up again."

"Chicky," Teddy came to the rescue, pushing the plate away again and patting Mike's head. "Humans can't eat more than they're able to, you know that," he scolded gently. "If Mikey says he's full, then you shouldn't be forcing him to eat anymore. You don't want to make him sick, do you?"  
"No, of course not!" The chicken smoothed her apron in agitation. "But he's just so, _so_ thin! It can't be healthy."

"Force-feeding him will not help," Teddy sighed, patting her on the shoulder. "I'm certain after a few weeks of your wonderful cooking, he'll be at a healthy weight."

She bobbed her head, knowing the older bear was right. "Of course he will," she smiled at the boy, then her lips turned into a frown. "Mikey, why do you have your backpack on? You can leave it in your room – none of us will bother your stuff. And you don't need your jacket on either, silly. If it gets too cold you can just turn up the thermostat!"

"Oh, er," Mikey shifted the bag on his shoulders. "I, uh, wanted to go play in the snow?"

Teddy, being the older and wiser bear he was, rolled his eyes at the lie, but Chicky bought it.

"Aw, that's so cute!" She squealed, pinching his cheeks. "You'll have to wait until the sun comes up, dear; it's far too cold to be playing right now. Why don't you go put your bag and jacket in your room, while Teddy and I find some board games to play? I'm sure Blue and BB will want to join in as well." Chicky made a shooing motion and the boy quickly complied, not wanting to give her a reason to go off. As soon as he was through the door, she turned to look at Teddy sadly. "He was trying to run away, wasn't he?"

The bear sighed and moved to wrap up the food Chicky had backed, carefully stacking it in the walk-in fridge for Mike to eat later. "Most likely," he snapped a plastic cover into place over the cupcakes and left them on the counter.

"But why? We're being nice, aren't we?" Chicky wrapped up the Very-Very-Berry Pie (one of her old specialties from when the restaurant was still open) and set it on top of the cupcakes.

"We are," Teddy reassured her, "but I don't think Mike has had a lot of people be nice to him before." The two left the kitchen, making a bee-line for the supplies closet near the stage where all their props and toys were stored. There were also several dozen board games, which hadn't been played with in years.

"Poor boy," Chicky muttered, picking out the Candy Land box.

Teddy chose CLUE, knowing that the teen might enjoy something that required a bit more skill and thought than Candy Land. "We'll just have to make sure he see's that he's safe with us," the bear reassured as they set the boxes on the stage. "After all, there's nothing we could do to make his life any worse, right?"

* * *

 **AN: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand Teddy jinxes it! I hope y'all enjoyed, as always. I was unsure about the magic background for Marion - I've seen lots of people have him, Gold, Shab, & Shaf being magical and using spells and potions and such, and thought it was an interesting take. What do y'all think of it? As for the voice in his head, well, you'll have to wait and see! **

**Please REVIEW what you think of MARIONS MAGIC and CHICKY'S COOKING and TEDDY'S BAD HABIT OF BEING OVERLY OPTIMISTIC and what you think OVER ALL. Seriously, I'm adoring the reviews; I've been reading them over and over again for motivation!**


	6. Game Night

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 6: Game Night**

Blue and BB were quick to join the others when they heard that board games would be involved. The bunny, preferring complex game play, picked out a version of Monopoly that had little plastic mascots instead of the standard metal tokens. He and Teddy had, soon after getting the game, taped over the properties with rooms from the pizzeria – the parking lot was the least expensive, while the Prize Corner and the Puppet's Box were the most expensive. All the party rooms, the stage, the backrooms, the kitchen, and the security office were strewn in-between. BB was happy to pick up a thousand-piece puzzle. When the others had suggested he picked a game instead, he'd stubbornly shaken his head.

"We can solve it all together!" He held up the box, which showed a picture of a rainbow-colored carousel, not unlike the one in his game corner. "That way nobody wins and nobody loses. Everybody gets to have fun!"

Mangle, who was sitting on the edge of the stage and fiddling with a bit of her broken suit, had 'awwed' and hugged the boy, throwing her vote behind the puzzle. Blue had immediately begun to argue, but Teddy had overruled him with a simple idea: let Mike decide.

The boy had crept out of the hall then, a green and blue throw blanket draped around his shoulders. He'd ditched his jacket, but was still chilly. Chicky had quickly accosted him, dragging him up to the stage and sitting him down on a large cushion that had been forgotten in Kid's Cove. It was a bit moldy on the bottom, and she'd had to shake out several bugs, but Mike didn't seem to mind it's state. He was much too focused on being surrounded by the tall, bulky, potentially-dangerous animatronics to care.

"Mikey," Teddy smiled at the boy, sitting beside him, "Let me introduce you to everyone. This is Blue," he pointed to the blue rabbit, "Mangle," the fox who could climb the ceiling, "and Balloon Boy, but we all call him BB."

"Hi!" BB chirped excitedly, while the other two waved.

"So, Mikey," Blue grinned at the young man, who shifted uncomfortably as all gazes turned his way, "What do you want to play?" He not-so-subtly nudged the Monopoly box forward.

Teddy smacked the back of the rabbits head and toed the game back by the others. All of the animatronics were sitting in a circle, their legs folded or crossed beneath them. Mike was actually surprised they could sit like that – their bodies were much more flexible than the plastic shells would have you believe.

"Er, whatever you want to play is fine," Mike eyed the games, not wanting to pick for fear of angering one of them. He especially didn't want to upset the blue rabbit – despite not being the largest of the animatronics (that distinction went to Teddy, who wasn't the tallest but had more girth than the rest), he frightened Mike the most. The bunny at the other restaurant – Bonnie – was the one he'd always found most threatening. The purple animatronic always moved first, and had lingered at his doorway, glaring through the window whenever it had the chance. This blue rabbit seemed very similar – even when he smiled, Mike was sure there was something dark lurking in his bright-green eyes. The boy didn't think Bonnie-clone was very happy he was there.

"C'mon now, boy," Teddy ruffled his hair, "We've all played these a million times. Ya' choose wha' you wanna play."

Mike decided to hedge his bets and pulled Monopoly out of the stack. Blue's eyes lit up in excitement as the boy took off the lid and pulled out the game board. He unfolded it, saw the pictures taped over the squares, and a small smile curled his lips.

"I call banker!" Blue lunged for the box, which still had the money and plastic animatronic-shaped tokens in it. The cardboard was yanked out of reach, and the bunny face planted.

"N' way!" Teddy snapped, holding the box out of reach. "Every time _you_ play the banker, you _win_!"

"That's just coincidence!" Blue protested.

"No, it's 'cause you cheat! _I'll_ be the banker."

"You? I wouldn't trust you with my game token, let alone my _money_!"

"Oh yeah? What do y-"

Mike drew the blanket farther around him, shrinking into it like a turtle, feeling uncomfortable as the bear and bunny bickered before him. Mangle had rolled her eyes and pulled a screwdriver out of nowhere. BB was helping her hold one of her arms still as she tried to fix it. Beside Teddy, Chicky was examining a chip in the paint on her fingers, looking bored at what was apparently a routine argument.

A loud _'CRASH!'_ from the far side of the room silenced all six of them. The large present box beside the price counter had puffed out at the sides, as though straining to hold something in. The top was thrown open, releasing a large plume of bright blue smoke and a tall, coughing form.

Marion frantically fanned the smoke from his face. There was black soot all over his mask, and his long cloth-like fingers were singed on the ends. As the group on the stage watched, he leaned over the edge of his box, coughing up little puffs of smoke.

"Ya' alright there, Marion?" Teddy called out, once the smoke had dissipated into nothing.

The puppet waved a long arm towards them, shaking his head a bit to clear it. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," he called in his smooth, elegant voice. "The anthurium reacted poorly with the crocus petals."

Mike was confused by the explanation, but the others just nodded and offered him sympathetic smiles. "We're about to play Monopoly, would you like to join us?" Chicky offered.

"No, thank you. I'm afraid I'm not in the best mood to beat Blue at Monopoly today," the puppet leaned against the counter, which was right beside his gift box. Mike couldn't help but think that he looked like a snake, his body stretching far beyond what should of been possible.

Ignoring the fuming bunny, Marion pulled a box from beneath the counter and placed it in front of him. It was a lovely hunter-green, painted with delicate gold filigree. The puppet fiddled with something on the side, and a light tinkling tone began to fill the air. As the animatronics turned back to the game, Mike found himself entranced by the pretty tune. Marion had crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, staring at the music box with lidded eyes. His putty body began to relax, shoulders drooping.

"Then _Mike_ can be the banker!" The box of multi-colored bills and rattling tokens was shoved into the boys lap, snapping his attention back to the stage. He blinked down at the box, then looked up at Teddy, who was frowning. That alone set him on edge, but the bear wasn't glaring at him. Instead his eyes were locked on the blue bunny.

"You really think the kid can handle it?" Blue asked snottily.

"I can count!" Mike frowned, insulted. He put the box in front of him and fixed up the money, organizing it in the plastic tray.

The bunny crossed his arms and sneered at him. "Hmph. It's more than counting. You're too young to understand the true _intricacies_ of this game."

Mike narrowed his eyes at the guitar player as he began to count out the starting money for them each. He didn't care if this bunny-bastard could shove him in a suit: he was going to beat Blue at his own game.

* * *

Three hours later, Blue was shaking in rage as he handed over the last of his bills to a smirking, triumphant Mike. The kid had managed to build two restaurants (their versions of hotels) on the Marionettes Gift Box, and had quickly begun to rake in the paper bills. After only an hour in, BB and Mangle had both dropped out. They'd seen the fire sparking between the human and bunny and had ditched the game before they could get roped into a fight. The two were instead putting together the carousel puzzle on the other side of the stage.

Chicky and Teddy had stuck with the game, if only for the amusement they were getting from watching Blue and Mike do their best to out-boast and out-bluff each other over a silly game. The bear was quite happy with the side of Mike he was seeing. Instead of cringing in on himself, or staying silent to avoid an argument, the boy was matching wits with Blue at every turn, and meeting every insult with his own creative slur (though he hadn't cussed once, which was good, since Marion hated swearing and would wash out Mike's mouth if he had to). Teddy much preferred this brave, clever, funny Mike to the shaky little boy he'd held earlier.

"I want a re-match!" Blue demanded as Mike joyfully counted his money. Chicky and Teddy were clutching their last bills, and obviously had no chance of winning. They shared an eye roll and handed their money over to Mike, who obligingly began to sort it out by color and place it neatly in the plastic tray.

"We should play something else, Blue," Teddy suggested, trying to sooth the irate bunny. Blue was notoriously competitive, and _hated_ to lose, unless he was playing against a young child. When the restaurant had been open, the bunny had constantly played games with the youngsters, from tag to hide-and-seek to board games like Candy Land. He'd never won a single game against any child younger than twelve. Mike fell outside of that age-range, though, and the bunny was seething.

"Mikey!" BB bounced over to them and threw his arms around the boys shoulders – since Mike was sitting, he nearly the same height as the boy.

"Er, hi, BB," Mike winced at the touch, but didn't push him off.

"You should come help me 'n' Miss Vixen with the puzzle!" He tugged the boys blanket eagerly, his eyes large and pleading.

"Not now, BB," Blue hissed, using his large paw to scoot the boy away, "I need to have a re-match with this cheater!"

"Blue!" Teddy grabbed the now-closed Monopoly box and smacked the bunny on the head. "That is quite enough. You lost, accept it!"

"I don't _lose_!"

"Suck it up, you big baby!"

"Oh, a baby, am I?"

Wisely, Mike followed BB over to the puzzle, Chicky not far behind. All of the edges had been picked out and put together already, leaving only the inside left. He sat beside what they'd done, sitting across from Mangle. Chicky sat on the far side, so she could watch Teddy and Blue as well as speak with Mangle and Mike. BB bounced around, picking up pieces and fitting them wherever he thought they would go. The older three sorted through the pieces and worked together to flesh out the horses and rainbow lights.

By the time they'd put together one of the horses and part of the colorful top, Teddy and Blue had calmed down and were playing checkers. For a long while, the only sound was Marion's music box and the puzzle solvers speaking softly as they tried to fit pieces in.

As the remaining pieces began to dwindle, finding their rightful places in the puzzle, Mike dropped his hands in his lap and glanced at the gathered animatronics. This whole situation felt unreal. Impossible. Marion had apparently fallen asleep while listening to his music box – his shoulders were rising and falling evenly as his closed eyes rested on his arms. Teddy and Blue were sharing small quips and jokes as they played. Despite the competitive taunts, they didn't seem angry at one another. In fact, their interaction reminded him more of brothers than coworkers or band mates.

Mangle was doting on BB as he rushed about, sometimes scattering the loose pieces with his brown shoe-like feet. She gave him hints as to where the pieces went, and would nudge some into place without him seeing, allowing him to discover them himself. She was much like a mother, and BB her young child. Chicky was also behaving sweetly, though with the under-breath taunts she threw over her shoulder at Teddy and Blue, she was less like a mother and more like a sister or aunt.

Mike sat back, drawing his blanket tighter around his shoulders, and watched them all. He couldn't help but feel confused. He felt much less afraid of them – they were practically human, with the way they acted. He was still intimidated by their size and super-human strength, but it seemed like a smaller part of them now. The way they behaved – it was like a family. They all cared about one another, and were keeping an eye on them.

 _You're perfect._

 _The others will just love you._

 _You're going to solve everything, I just know it._

 _Let's go home, Mikey!_

Everything the puppet had said when abducting him snapped into place. Apparently this puppet – Marion, the others called him – had kidnapped him and brought him here to be a part of their weird little family. Mike slumped in on himself, a frown tugging at his lips. It was such a weird, surreal situation, he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

"Mikey, Mikey, look, we solved it!"

BB grabbed his shoulder and gave him a small shake, drawing his attention back to the stage. The puzzle was completed, showing a picture of a rotating carousel with horses and bright lights.

The blanket fell of his shoulders, and as soon as Mike's lap was free, BB was happily sitting in it, facing the puzzle and beaming at their hard work. Had it been another animatronic, Mike's legs would have been crushed beneath the weight. BB, though, was mostly plastic, with a very light endoskeleton (thanks to his helium tank). It felt like having a very large, heavy dog in his lap.

Mike was too surprised to shove the boy off. Instead, he just sat still, watching as the boy happily hummed and examined the finished picture. After a moment, he settled down and leaned forward, admiring the picture past BB's head. After all, the little balloon boy was the least dangerous of them all – there was no trouble coming from that quarter.

Across the room, the tired Marion opened one eye and smiled at the sight of his little family enjoying a game night, happily accepting Mike into their fold.

* * *

 **AN: I am so COMPLETELY OVERWHELMED by the response this story has gotten! Thank you so, so much for all the reviews, follows, and faves. I love reading and re-reading them!**

 **Sorry about the slow chapter - this was to help flesh out Mike's thoughts, the other characters, and a bit more of Marion's plotting.**

 **Thanks for the response! I love REVIEWS! They're INSPIRING and CREATIVE and a COOKIE to whoever can figure out what Marion's potion will be doing! Well, part of it - the rest of the ingredients will be in another chapter.**

 **Love to all of you!**


	7. A Chat With Uncle Marion

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 7: A Chat With Uncle Marion**

Mike woke up with his nose inches away from Teddy's. He blinked, vision blurry, then jerked his head back in panic. It wasn't until he'd almost fallen out of the bed that he realized it wasn't _really_ Teddy. It was the little plush Teddy from the desk – he'd grabbed it before collapsing into his bed last night. The boy sat up, rubbing at his eyes as he set the toy down beside his pillow. It felt a bit childish, holding onto a stuffed animal while he slept, but he'd appreciated the comfort when he woke up from a nightmare only a few hours before.

He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 in the evening. According to Teddy, the animatronics slept all day and stayed up all night. Mike (being a teenager, even an atypical one) happily agreed to adjust to their schedule – thanks to his four nights as security guard, he was already nearly there.

The boy pulled on a clean t-shirt and fished his remaining pair of clean socks from the depths of his backpack. He pulled them on, wiggling his toes as the fuzzy cotton fought off the chill. It wasn't too cold in building, which surprised him – they still had power and running water, somehow. He'd asked Teddy about it, but the bear had shrugged and said Marion took care of all that stuff.

Mike shuffled out of what everyone called his 'bedroom.' Now that he'd been here for two days, he was beginning to think of it that way as well. The thought scared him a bit. He hadn't allowed himself to get attached to anyone or anyplace since he'd runaway a little over a year ago. Thinking of a place as 'his' was a bit unsettling. He wasn't sure he liked this feeling of 'home' or the consequences that came with it.

The main room, with the stage and prize corner, was devoid of life. When Mike had asked where they all slept, Freddy had explained that they each chose one of the four party rooms as their own 'bedrooms.' It was for privacy and gave each of them the chance to explore their hobbies and relax, as well as get away from one another for a bit if they needed space. Since there were only four rooms, Balloon Boy bounced from one to the other, going wherever he felt most comfortable at the time. Apparently they were all still asleep or recharging or what have you, since the stage and tables were empty.

The guard's stomach grumbled, and he made a beeline for the kitchen. After their games last night, Chicky had shown him around the kitchen and made sure he understood that, as the only one who actually needed to eat, he had the run of the place. He'd asked where the food came from, but Chicky had shrugged and said that the fridge always had whatever they needed. She'd also muttered something about Marion, but he hadn't caught it, and by then he was far too tired to ask what she'd said.

A black arm with white stripes stretched itself across the doors to the kitchen before Mike could push them open, stopping the boy in his tracks. "Good morning, Mikey," Marion purred as he stepped out of his box, pulling his stretchy arm back to his side. It reminded Mike of those Strong-Arm action figures that used to be sold in the dime stores – the wrestler figures with the super-stretchy arms that could pull out almost a foot each way.

It took Mike a minute to remember how to breathe. He hadn't really interacted with the puppet, other than when the lanky animatronic had kidnapped him and brought him here. The boy pasted a shaky smile on his face and turned it to Marion.

"Oh, uh, good morning," he paused, not knowing what to call him, "sir?"

"There's no need to call me sir, Mikey," the puppet walked over, and once more the human felt very, _very_ short. "You can call me Uncle Marion."

"Um..."

"Or, if you're not comfortable with that, you can just call me Marion." The puppet was quick to comfort the boy, who looked _incredibly_ awkward at the thought of using such a title.

"Er, right, okay Marion."

The animatronic pushed open the kitchen doors and ushered Mike inside, following him closely. He motioned for the boy to sit down on the same stool he'd used the night before, when Chicky had given him pizza. Without a word, the puppet swept about the kitchen, pulling a bowl from a cabinet and a box of something from the fridge, along with some eggs and milk. He brought everything to the island counter and set it down in front of Mike. The box turned out to be pancake mix.

"What do you like in your waffles?" Marion asked cheerfully as he deftly measured out the mix, followed by the milk. He carefully cracked the eggs on the edge of the bowl, watching closely to make sure no shell got into the food.

Mike felt his jaw drop in disbelief. "You're...you're making me _waffles_?"

The puppet paused in mid-stir, quirking a brow at him. "Yessss? Would you prefer pancakes?"

"What? No!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"You are!" Mike jumped off the stool, pointing at the confused puppet in front of him. "You – you _kidnapped_ me! Why are you making me waffles?"  
"Because it's a good breakfast," Marion finished stirring and tapped the whisk on the side of the bowl, knocking off the extra mix. "And I _didn't_ kidnap you."

"Yes you did!" Mike tangled one hand in his hair, tugging on the messy brown locks in frustration. "You showed up out of nowhere, grabbed me, and brought me here, without giving me any warning or a chance to say no!"

The puppet tapped his chin in thought. "Hmm, I suppose that does sound like kidnapping." He walked around the island to stand in front of Mike. The boy took a step back, hesitant to let the animatronic near him. Marion knelt down on one knee, which actually made them the same height. "Mikey" he put his hands on the kids shoulders, looking him in the eye, "Everything I do is to protect those who need it, and you are in need."

"In need of _what_?" Mike demanded, standing stiffly beneath Marion's hands.

"A family," Marion saw the shock in his face and knew he'd hit the nail on the head. "You are sorely in need of a safe place – a _home_ – and people who love and care about you."

Mike was stunned – he swallowed hard, looking at the puppet. He wasn't sure he could believe the animatronic, but Marion _seemed_ like he was telling the truth. "Tha – that still doesn't give you the right to just grab me and drag me here! You didn't give me a choice!"

Marion nodded, "You're right. How about a deal?"

"A deal?"

"You stay here one week, and if after that you don't want to live here, I'll take you back to the other store and make sure you get two weeks pay."

Mike squinted at him, his mind turning over the offer. A week here would give him a chance to rest, eat, and keep him out of the snow and cold. Not to mention the $240 he could use to get a new winter jacket and some boots. The animatronics weren't all bad – spending a week with them could be fun.

"Alright." He shook Marion's offered hand. The puppet beamed, then resumed making waffles for his new 'nephew.' Mike sat back on the stool and watched as the puppet snuck some chocolate chips from a box in one of the cabinets and put a generous handful into the mix.

"Don't tell Chicky," Marion winked, "she doesn't like kids to have too many sweets." He pulled out a waffle iron and plugged it into the wall. Across from him, Mike cracked a small smile, hoping that the week would include lots of chocolate-chip waffles.

* * *

"GOLD!"

Golden Freddy was far too used to his best friend appearing at random to be startled by the yell. He slipped a piece of paper into his book and looked up at the frantic puppet, who was floating in the air, looking panicked as he tugged at the edges of his mask.

"Yes, Marion?" He asked politely.

The puppet grabbed the golden shoulders and shook them.

"I need a heart!"

"Oh come now," Gold smirked, "Just because you're a bloody git doesn't mean you don't have a heart." He patted Marion's chest, eyes squinting as he tried not to laugh.

"No, no, not like _that_!" Marion moved away from his friend, looking around the room. Much like his box, Gold had his own place at his restaurant. He'd claimed what had once been a small cellar, which was only accessible through a hatch in the Parts  & Services room floor. The floor was warm, off-white plush carpet, while the walls had been painted a rich red. The room itself was a mixture of a bedroom and a sitting room – a large bed with curtains was in one corner near a fireplace, while the rest of the space was dedicated to bookshelves and a handful of comfortable settees and sofas. There were two doors – the wood door went to a small chamber, where the ladder dropped from the Parts & Services room. The other was made of steel and resembled the thick doors found on ships, complete with a valve handwheel for a handle.

"I need a real heart!" Marion made a beeline for the steel door, but a quick snap of Gold's fingers had the door wrapped in bright yellow 'Do No Cross' tape, and several large padlocks appearing on the wheel.

"What in the world are you on about?" Gold asked, standing from his seat.

"The spell needs heart strings!" Marion tapped his fingers together anxiously.

"What spell?"

"The one for Mikey!"

"Why does Mikey need a spell?"

"To make sure he stays!"

Gold groaned and collapsed back into his comfy armchair. He motioned for the puppet to take a seat on the nearest couch, and summoned a teapot to his side table. It popped into existence on top of his book. The pot this time was red, with wooden puppets dancing around the sides. Ignoring Marion's scowl, the bear poured them both some tea and made sure his friend had his favorite peanut-butter cookies in reach.

"Now, tell me everything from the beginning."

Marion was quick to summarize what had happened over the past two days, since he'd taken Mike away. He explained the Toys reactions, how Teddy had handled Mike's panic attack, Chicky's renewed interest in cooking, the game night (and Blue getting his fluffy butt handed to him in Monopoly), and how he'd had breakfast with Mike and made a deal with him only an hour before.

"So you want to cheat Mikey out of this deal of yours?" Gold raised a brow, frowning at his friend.

"No, no, I just know what's best for him!" The puppet insisted, nibbling on a cookie anxiously. "He needs protection, and if he leaves, I doubt he'll live long enough to become an adult!"

Gold sighed, knowing that the puppet was right – street life was rough, but it was even worse for a child. "What are you trying to brew?"

A quick, intricate wave of Marion's clawed hand had a thick tome appearing in his lap. He flicked it open and held it out for the bear to see. Gold took the book and read through the instructions.

"You really want to use this?" He asked, running his finger over some of the more expensive ingredients.

"Yes, I've almost got it done. I just need to add the stabilizer before I put the anthurium in." Marion tapped one of the ingredients. "See? Heart strings." He glanced back at the steel door. "It's the only thing I'm missing."

"No, you're not," Gold rolled his eyes and wiped his thumb over the page, removing a smudge on the vellum. "See? It reads _'Bleeding Heart Strings_.' It's talking about the poppy flower, _Lamprocapnos spectabilis._ See here in the instructions? 'Slice the petals into small strings and add to the potion, then stir counter-clockwise for five minutes.'"

"Oh." The puppet blinked, then his cheeks began to glow a brighter red. "Er, oops?"

Gold rolled his eyes and handed the book back. "You may want to add in a memory blocker of some kind – if you're really going to go through with this, you'll want him to forget being fourteen."

Marion shook his head, hugging the book close. "No, I can't. Any kind of memory spell would neutralize the anthurium and lily of the valley."

"Then good luck with the temper tantrums." Gold sipped his tea, smirking as the puppet winced at the idea.

"Right, well, I'm off," Marion stood, draining the rest of his tea.

"Do let me know how it goes," Gold chuckled, waving him off. The puppet vanished, and the bear was left to his thoughts.

* * *

Mike was sneezing, and Chicky was having fits over it. She had dug out a few boxes of Kleenex from the back of the storage closet and had placed them all about the restaurant. The boy was doing his best to avoid her, insisting it was just a cold or allergies every time she tried to shove another tissue into his hands or check his temperature with the back of he hand. He stuck close to Teddy, who was sitting at one of the old tables and writing new songs for him and his band. Blue was on the stage, tuning his guitar and chasing away BB, who kept plucking the strings when he wasn't looking. Mangle and Chicky were in Kids Cove, enjoying some 'girl time' with some old fashion magazines and cook books. The chicken was coming out every five minutes to check on the boy, which was driving both Mike and Teddy nuts.

"Wa-wa-waCHOO!"

Mike sniffed, rubbing his nose with one of the many tissues Chicky had forced into his pockets. His head was beginning to pound right behind his eyes, and he felt a bit warm. He figured it was a cold, creeping up on him now that he had time to rest. He'd heard about this before – when someone was constantly on alert, their adrenaline kept germs mostly at bay. Now that he was somewhere relatively safe and sound, his body was relaxing and allowing the germs some leeway.

"Ya' okay there, Mikey?" Teddy asked, pausing his scribbling.

"Yeah, just a cold." He sniffled.

"A cold?"

Both human and bear jumped at the velvety voice behind them. Marion had finally left his box, where he'd been working for the past few hours, ever since he'd returned from his visit with Gold. He had a small glass cup in his hands, which was filled with a frothy purple substance.

"Yeah, nothing serious," Mike reassured him, noisily blowing his nose.

Marion frowned. "Don't say that, Mikey," he shook his head, "Any illness is serious. Here," he held out the small cup, "this should take care of that cold in no time."

Mike took the cup and sniffed at it. "Is this that kids cold medicine? The kind that tastes like grape?"

"I'm not sure what it tastes like," Marion shrugged.

Shrugging, trusting that the crazy but caring puppet wouldn't hurt him, Mike drank the purple brew. It was a bit thick, but he wouldn't expect anything else from cough syrup.

As soon as the cup was empty, Mike had to drop it, doubling over as a sudden stabbing pain struck his stomach and radiated to every inch of his body. Teddy yelled in alarm, and the human felt large, fuzzy arms wrap around him, keeping him from tumbling off his chair. There were pounding footsteps as the other animatronics, alerted by their leaders cry, hurried to the table. Voices – soft, loud, harsh, and gentle – thundered down on him, making his ears hurt. Above them all was a soft, silky tone.

 _Relax Mikey, everything is going to be okay._

The pain only lasted for a minute. It fled as quickly as it had come, leaving Mike gasping for breath as he tried to fight back the tears of pain in his eyes. Teddy's arms were still wrapped around him, holding him up as he panted. He blinked his eyes open as silenced descended on the room, and glanced up at the animatronics surrounding him. They seemed even taller than before – it must have been the way he was sitting. Mikey shifted to sit up straight, but something very odd happened.

His pants and boxer shorts fell off.

Normally he would have been embarrassed, but his shirt had gotten much larger as well, and hung down to his knees. He stared down at himself in horror, then looked up at Teddy for an explanation. The bear animatronic had gotten much larger as well, and was staring down at Mike with blatant shock. The other animatronics wore matching expressions, except for BB, who simply looked confused. The boys heart began to pound – had he _shrunk_? How had this been done? Was it an accident? Tears began to gather in his eyes, unbidden and unwanted, but he wasn't able to help it.

"What happened?"

Mike froze as the odd, high-pitched voice escaped his mouth.

"W-what?!"

Before he could sort out this new development, a pair of black hands swept him up, and Marion was holding him in the air, his mask almost cracking in half as he smiled.

"It worked!"

Dangling in his hands, six-year-old Michael Schmidt burst into tears.

* * *

 **AN: And so the deaging happens! I didn't want to make Mike a baby - let's face it, Kudleyfan93 has pretty much cornered that market, and I can't write babies as well as her. There will be more about the potion, Mike's childhood, and the animatronics reaction in the next chapter.**

 **There's lots of DRAMA and ACTION and FIGHTS and FLUFF coming!**

 **Please REVIEW what you think! And thank you to everyone who had reviewed, I really REALLY appreciate it. Y'all are awesome!**


	8. You Did WHAT?

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 8: You Did WHAT?!**

Mike was inconsolable. Teddy held him, walking back and forth in front of the stage, patting his back as he hugged the sobbing little boy to him. The child kept apologizing, trying to force himself to stop crying, only to start sobbing even harder a moment later. The bear soothed him as best he could, muttering comforting things in his ears, reassuring him that he was okay and that he could cry as much as he wanted, the bear didn't mind, he was happy to stay with Mikey as long as he needed.

Marion, meanwhile, was having the life shaken out of him by an irate Chicky. She was hissing at him, her voice low enough to keep Mike from hearing her angry swears and promises of painful punishment. Mangle was hanging from the ceiling beside Chicky, waiting for her turn to tell the puppet just what she thought of his manipulations. Blue was sitting on the stage with BB, both of whom were watching Mike with worry. The bunny had the balloon blower in his lap, patting his back and reassuring the worried boy that everything would be fine, and that Mikey would be back to normal soon.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Mike to run out of tears. He sniffed loudly and rubbed at his nose with the back of his far-too-tiny hand. Teddy pushed a tissue into his hand and sat on the stage, settling the boy in his lap. The boy quickly mopped up his face, wiping away the tear streaks, though his eyes were still rimmed with red. He made no move to leave the comfort and safety of Teddy's lap, content to sit there with the bear as Mangle finished smacking the puppet, who was doing his best to dodge her flailing limbs.

"I'm sorry, Teddy," Mike muttered, blushing as he looked down at his fingers, which were twisting together in a knot.

"It's okay, Mikey," the bear soothed, rubbing a circle on his back. "You're just a little kid now – they can't control their emotions."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Mike fixed the bear with a steely glare. "I'm fourt—I'm eighteen. Not...not a little kid." He shifted off Teddy's lap, moving to stand on the stage. Even sitting, Teddy was a good foot or two taller than him. As soon as he'd straightened up, BB was in front of him, looking devastated.

"Mikey!" He threw his arms around the human, who was about the same height now. "Are you okay?" He asked, patting the boys head and shoulders, making sure the human had all his parts.

"Yeah. Yeah, BB, I'm good," he comforted the boy, who seemed relieved now that he'd gotten a hug in. He glanced over at Mangle, who was nearly done lambasting the puppet. "Hey, BB, I'm kind of cold. Could you go get my blanket from my room?"

"Sure, Mikey!" The little animatronic beamed at being asked to do such a large task. He waddled away, and as soon as he was out of sight, Mike rounded on the puppet.

"What the FUCK did you DO to ME?!" He yelled at the top of his per-pubescent voice, which was a bit too squeaky to properly convey his anger. Blue, free from looking after BB, moved to sit on the boys other side, so Mike was between him and Teddy. Mangle and Chicky both backed away from Marion, giving Mike a clear view of the puppet.

"Why are you upset with me?" Marion demanded, sounding genuinely surprised. He focused his gaze on his family, ignoring Mike for the moment. "We've got a child now!" He motioned to the fuming boy, "We can take care of him, raise him, _entertain_ him!"

Mike stomped his foot, wishing he was tall once more so he could face the puppet without the aid of the stage. "I'm _not_ a child! I'm a te – an adult! Change me back! Now!"

Marion scoffed. "I don't have the antidote, Mikey. Besides, in a month you won't remember anything beyond your first six years."

All five on the stage gasped.

"Wha – _what_?" Mikey's face had gone white.

"There's a delayed memory loss attribute to the potion. It will slowly help you forget your life." The puppet shrugged. "It's for the best, really. You'll be much happier with only your memories of this place."

Teddy noted the sudden pale sheen on Mike's face and rubbed a large paw over the boys back. "Marionette," the bears normally jolly voice was flat, "You will make the antidote, _immediately_." He'd even dropped his thick southern accent.

"Don't you understand what I've done?" Marion demanded, not showing how much Teddy's use of his full name bothered him. "I've given us a second chance! We have a CHILD now, just like in the old days!"

"No," Chicky put her hands on her hips and glared at him, eyes going dark with only white pinpricks in the depths. "You've taken away Mikey's life! You changed him into a little kid without asking his permission, and now you're saying he'll even forget who he is!" She was fuming, her shoulders shaking with restrained fury. "You – you – you're just as bad as the _Purple Man!_ "

A heavy silence descended, as everyone sans the trembling Mike stared at the furious chicken in shock.

"Excuse me?" Marion asked icily.

"You heard me! You're just like _him_. You dragged Mikey here and now you've trapped him, just like how _he_ trapped those little kids in the suits! You're just as bad!"

The very walls of the restaurant began to shake, and the lights flickered on and off as Marion stretched to his full height, towering over all of them. His near-perpetual smile had changed into an angry sneer, and he directed it at Chicky.

"I am _nothing_ like _him_." His voice was a demonic hiss. Teddy, hearing Mike's soft gasp at the sudden threatening process, pulled the boy to his side, leaving him standing but keeping an arm around him.

"That is _enough_ , Marionette!" Teddy growled, hackles raised. The sound snapped the puppet from his rage, and the building immediately calmed. "You are going to brew the antidote _immediately_ , without argument, or I will call in Golden Freddy to do it."

Marion has shrunk back to his normal stature, though his shoulders were a bit hunched. He really, _really_ didn't want to have Goldie dancing around the place for a week, saying 'I told you so' every time they met. His gaze switched from the bear to the boy. Mike didn't look happy about this situation at _all._ Marion had expected him to be enjoying this second chance, but the boy appeared afraid and distressed.

"It will take a week to make," he finally said, straightening back up and crossing his arms, "So enjoy this gift while you can." The others all scowled, and not one offered a thanks. "Mikey," the child actually _flinched_ , and Marion felt something stab at his mechanical heart, "you will experience flashbacks for the next few days."

"Flashbacks?" The boy worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Yes, as the potion works, you'll have flashbacks of moments that really influenced you at this stage." Marion shrugged, "Like your birthday or Christmas, or other happy things that happened when you were a kid." He turned to leave, missing the panicked look on the kids face.

"What a-a-about _bad_ memories?"

"Yes, you'll see those too, but you're _six_. What bad memories could you have?"

There was a heavy pause, and then a thump. Marion whirled around to see Mike sitting on his knees, hugging himself, as his eyes stared far past the stage floor, his mind obviously lost in something unpleasant. Mangle shoved Blue aside and sat beside the boy, patting his back and whispering soft, comforting words in his ear. Teddy happily handed the child off to the fox, then stood and went straight to the puppet. Without preamble, he seized Marion around the throat and dragged him to the prize corner.

"You," he said conversationally, as though he man-handled Marion all the time, "are you going to make this potion of yours as quickly as possible, and when Mikey is back to normal," he threw open the top of the puppets large present box, "you are going to get down on your knees and _beg_ for his forgiveness." He dragged the puppet closer, so they were eye-to-eye. "I don't care how powerful that mojo of yours is, Marionette. _Nobody_ harms a child under my watch." He threw the stuttering puppet into his box and slammed the lid shut.

BB had wisely watched the confrontation from the hallway as the adults fought. As soon as Marion was out of the way, he waddled up to the stage and held the blue-and-green blanket up for Mangle. She accepted it with a smile and soft 'thank you' and draped it around the trembling Mikey's shoulders.

"Mikey?" BB climbed onto the stage and sat beside the boy, who had tugged the blanket tight around himself, his eyes still a bit distant. "I got you something else." The balloon vendor held out the small Teddy plush, placing it in the boys arms.

Some of the lines on the boys face smoothed as he saw the toy. "Thanks, B," he whispered, pulling the toy to his chest.

The large room was quiet for a bit, save for Mike's shaky breathing as he processed everything he'd just learned. Teddy rejoined his family, and watched the human sadly.

"Whelp," he finally clapped his hands, getting everyone's attention, "looks like we got a week 'fore everything goes back ta' normal 'round here."

"I didn't realize we _had_ a normal," Blue grunted, pulling a smile from the bear.

"Righ'. Well, we ain't gonna spend the whole week lookin' like a bunch of gloomy gargoyles." Teddy chuckled. "Wha' do you wanna do, Mikey?" He ruffled the boys hair, gratified to see him smile a bit in return.

"I, uh, I don't know." He shrugged, keeping the toy Teddy clutched to his chest.

"Ooh, ooh, I know!" BB thew his arm in the air, waving it frantically. "Let's play hide-and-seek!"

Mike couldn't help but grin at the animatronics obvious excitement at the idea. He wondered if the more adult animatronics played with him much. "I like hide-and-seek." He agreed.

"Great!" Teddy immediately put a finger to his nose, which squeaked in response. "Not it!"

BB and Mike were both quick to follow suit, as were Chicky and Mangle. Blue, who had been examining his guitar when the round of 'not-it' began, looked up when his friends began to laugh.

"Wha-oh, hey, no fair, I wasn't paying attention!"

"It doesn't matter," Chicky laughed, jumping off the stage. "Now close your eyes and count to one hundred!"  
The bunny groaned, but obligingly drooped his ears down over his eyes. "One...two...three.."

Mike couldn't help but feel a bit excited as Blue's voice echoed about the room. He hadn't played hide-and-seek since he was really little. He watched as Chicky disappeared into the kitchen, while Mangle climbed along the hanging florescent lights on the ceiling. Teddy slipped into the parts and services room at the end of the L-shaped hallway. BB grabbed Mike's hand and pulled him towards the arcade games.

"You hide here," the animatronic instructed, pointing to the miniature carousel. There were four plastic characters to ride – a bear, a duck, a bunny, and a fox. It was surrounded by large present boxes, which were stacked among cardboard boxes that were labeled for moving, though they'd obviously been forgotten. Mike shifted some of the boxes aside, creating a little empty space in the middle of the stacks. BB put a larger box on top of them, so the boxes created a closed-in space. "You sneak in, and I'll put this box in front of the hole, and he won't _ever_ find you!"

Mike happily complied, climbing into the spot, still clutching his blanket and Teddy plush. BB gave him a bright smile and put the other box into place, leaving a spot for light to shine through, so Mike could still see. The animatronic rushed off to find his own hiding spot, hearing the bunny on the stage approaching one hundred.

BB knew he wasn't the smartest of the animatronics – he was built to think and act like a child, and he didn't always understand what the others were talking about when they got all serious and boring. He _did_ know kids, however – making them smile was his whole purpose. Even if Mikey wasn't really a kid, it would be nice to play with him this next week, and BB would be sure to make him smile a whole lot.

* * *

Blue was getting really, _really_ frustrated.

He'd found Chicky right off the bat – she _always_ hid in the kitchen, either in the walk-in fridge or the large pantry. BB had been next – he was in the game corner, as normal, shoved behind one of the arcade cabinets. He'd gotten himself stuck, and it had taken a good few tugs to get him free. Mangle had nearly tricked him – she'd ditched her normal ceiling spots for he cove, hiding beneath a pile of old blankets and cushions, invisible except for the twitching tail that had stayed in sight. She'd been disappointed, but had happily joined Chicky and BB on the stage to watch him look for the last two.

Teddy had nearly won by default, thanks to giving Blue a pump-attack. He'd shed his suit, half-way hiding it in the parts and services room. Then, as only an endoskeleton, he'd hidden in the dark corner. Blue had scoffed at what he perceived to be a poor hiding job and had grabbed the suit, only to find it empty. Teddy had completely missed the point of the game and jumped at the rabbit, scaring the bolts out of him. After re-suiting, the cackling bear joined the others on the stage, carefully recounting in detail how Blue had screamed like a little girl.

Now he was trying to find Mikey, but there was no sign of the boy. It was like he'd vanished. The crabby bunny had checked each of their bedrooms and the office, but the boy was nowhere in sight. The bathrooms were free of humans, as was the kitchen and the back part of the stage. The Prize Corner and game area were both empty. Blue was about to pull his ears out in frustration, when he heard it.

A sneeze.

"Ha!" The bunny huffed as he headed back to the game corner. His ears – much more sensitive than the others – twitched wildly as he moved slowly among the arcade games and stacked boxes. A second sneeze brought him to a stack near the carousel. With a triumphant grin, he toed aside a box.

"Got ya!"

* * *

Mike wasn't sure where he was. It was dark, with only a sliver of light. He had a blanket and something – it felt like a teddy bear – in his arms. The boy blinked and wrapped the fuzzy blanket tight around his shoulders. The only place this small and dark in the house was the downstairs closet by the backdoor. His daddy called it the 'Bad Boy Closet.' Mike sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, wondering what he had done to end up in the Closet this time.

He tried to be good, he really did! But sometimes he wet his bed by accident, or knocked a glass over, or forgot his spelling book at school. His daddy said it was 'cause he was an 'accident,' and then if he had been drinking a lot of those brown bottles he would put him in the Closet. Sometimes, when he did something _really_ bad, like having a nosebleed on the carpet or bumping into his daddy, he'd get a whippin' too.

The closet door swung open, and a large hand grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him out into the hall. Mikey winced as the bright light hit his eyes, and squinted up at his dad. The man had a scruffy line of beard on his face, and one of those brown bottles in his hand. His eyes were a bit red, and his brow was twisted up into that kind of frown that meant he was really, _really_ angry.

"C'mere, boy!" He snarled, yanking Mikey into the living room. The boy stumbled after his daddy, holding tight onto his teddy bear. "Gimme that!" As the man thrust him into the small room, he grabbed the plush and threw it back down the hall. He glared down at Mikey, who shrunk into himself, unsure of what he needed to apologize for.

"I-I-I'm sorry, daddy," he stuttered, hoping for the best.

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it this time, boy," the man sneered, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from his jeans. Mikey wanted to burst into tears as soon as he saw it, but he knew that would only make it worse. His arms moved automatically, pulling his t-shirt over his head and folding it neatly. He set it on the coffee table and stood beside it, hoping that if he didn't turn around to show his back, his daddy would change his mind.

"Don' you ever hide from me 'gain, boy! Now turn around!" A rough, calloused hand grabbed Mike's shoulder and spun him around, then forced him to lean over the coffee table, bracing himself on it. There was a whistle of leather against air. The boy kept his eyes shut, mouth clamped tight, until it became too much.

"ARRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

 **AN: Marion done fucked up.**

 **Thank you SO SO SO MUCH for all the faves, follows, and reviews. I adore them all! They are INSPIRING and MOTIVATIONAL and keep me going during LONG, BORING WORK SHIFTS!**

 **Please REVIEW and ENJOY! I'll try to get another chapter up by Monday!**


	9. Flashbacks

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 9: Flashbacks**

Blue leapt a foot in the air as Mike let loose a loud scream, nearly deafening the bunny. He dropped the boys arm, certain he hadn't used enough pressure to hurt the boy – he hadn't even pulled him, just a gentle tug since the boy was staring off at nothing, his mind obviously elsewhere. The boy kept screaming, a look of pain and panic in his eyes.

Teddy leapt off the stage and bound across the room, moving rather sprightly for his size. He wasn't fast enough to stop Blue's reflexes, however.

The bunny had, when they were open, seen a woman in similar hysterics to what Mikey was experiencing now. When her husband hadn't been able to talk some sense into her, a quick slap across the face had stopped her screaming and brought her about. The memory surged to the front of his memory banks, and Blue quickly acted on it. He slapped Mikey across the face with his big bunny paw, wincing at the sharp crack of plastic striking skin.

Mikey's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide and blinking as he stared about the large room as though he'd never seen it before. Teddy, who had been in an all-out sprint for the pair, had skidded to a stop as soon as he saw Blue hit the boy. Said bunny was looking torn between being incredibly guilty and relieved, his over-sensitive ears drooping after the vocal assault.

" _BLUE_!"

Teddy seized his friends arm, tugging him away from the silent child. He was shaking with restrained fury, unable to believe that Blue had struck a child.

"How _could_ you?" The bear demanded, shaking the guitar player furiously. Chicky, Mangle, and BB hurried over, all looking worried. Even the puppets box lid opened a smidge, allowing the curious Marion to peek out.

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ ," Blue stuttered, grabbing Teddy's wrists, trying to stop the shaking. "It was the first thing I thought of!"

" _Abuse_ was the _first thing_ you thought of!?"

"No, no, there was this lady who came in once and freaked and her husband-"

"An _adult_ is vastly different from a _child_! I cannot believe yo-"

"TEDDY!"

Six pairs of eyes snapped to Mike, who was rubbing his reddening cheek and watching them all with wary eyes. He sniffled, getting his emotions back under control. "It's okay," he insisted, taking a deep breath. "Blue did what he thought was right, and it snapped me out of...out of _that_."

"But Mikey-"

"No, Teddy, it's fine," Mike put his hands on his hips and scowled up at the bear. If he didn't know it would make the boy furious, the bear would have cooed over how cute he was. "Thank you, Blue."

"I'm sorry, Mikey," the bunny apologized, even as Mike waved it off. "No, really, I should have thought of something else to snap you out of it."

The boy sighed. "It doesn't matter now, 'kay? Let's just forget it happened." He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, which was still hanging about his knees. "So, did I win?"

Mangle snorted in amusement, while Chicky tittered and even Teddy cracked a smile. "Yeah, kiddo, you did." The bear patted his head, and led them back to the stage. He sat down, then picked the boy up and put him on his lap (despite Mike's protests at being manhandled). "Now, just wha' in Sam Hill was all that screamin' about?"

The child snorted in laughter at the quaint, southern colloquialism. He'd noticed when Teddy was yelling at Blue that when the bear was angry, he lost his accent.

"Child?" Mangle, hanging down from the ceiling, pet his hair softy, her mis-matched eyes holding worry. "Little Mikey, can you tell us what you saw?"

Mikey shrugged off his amusement at their speech patterns and looked up at the fox. He really, _really_ didn't want to share what he'd seen. And who were they to ask, anyway? It wasn't their business. Seven more nights and he'd be out of their hair for good – they wouldn't care what had happened when he was little.

He decided to play what cards he had and leaned back against Teddy's round stomach, giving a very convincing yawn and rubbing at his eyes. "I'm real tired, Miss Mangle," he muttered, allowing his eyes to droop. "I don' wanna talk about it 'fore I go to sleep."

"Oh you poor thing!" Chicky beat Mangle to picking him up – she scooped him up in her feathered arms, despite Teddy's protests, and hugged him close. "Come on, now, lets get you to bed." She clucked over him, trying to tame his wild hair as she swept from the room, completely ignoring the others. Mike allowed himself to lean against her soft, fluffy chest, his fingers absently tracing the edge of her bib. It was clean but a bit worn, some of the threads fraying and a few of the stitches long gone. He wondered if there were any more bibs in storage she could use – he bet she'd appreciate a new one, if he could find it...

"Well look at this!" Chicky sat him on the bed, right next to a stack of clothes. There were a few pairs of jeans, a couple of bright shirts, each featuring a cartoon-y version of one of the characters, and a small pair of shoes and some socks. A note was pinned to the top of the pile, which the chicken quickly removed and read aloud. "Let's see – _Teddy, I heard Marion brought you a guest. You know how scatter-brained he can be about details, so I thought I'd help out. Don't worry, I conjured these – they should last the week. If you need anything more, let me know. Cheers, Goldie._ "

"Who's Goldie?" Mike asked, rifling through the new clothes. At the bottom of the stack he found (to his embarrassment) several new pairs of underwear, as well as a pair of bright-red pajamas printed with pizza slices. Wrinkling his nose at the clothing choice, he non-the-less yanked them out of the stack, along with a pair of clean undies. He was able to slide on the underwear and pants without removing his parachute of a shirt, saving himself from mooning Chicky as she answered him.

"Goldie is an old friend of ours, from when the restaurant was still open. He and Marion have known each other a long time, and are good friends. He comes to visit every Friday – I'll introduce you when he pops up."

Mike nodded absently as he listened to the explanation, thoughtlessly pulling off his shirt, his back still to the chicken. He heard a startled gasp, as well as the hush of paper as it fluttered to the floor. He cringed and glanced back over his shoulder, knowing _exactly_ what she was seeing.

His back resembled a road-map more than a soft expanse of skin. Whatever Marion's spell had done, it hadn't erased his scars. Thick and thin purple stripes littered his back, allowing unblemished skin to peak through now and then. There were older scars, where the skin had puckered and turned pale and shiny, beneath the layers of newer ones. The skin, which had been flayed open again and again by his drunk father, had never healed to it's original pristine state, leaving him with a living reminder of his worth.

Chicky was staring at him with beak agape, her eyes having turned black with only white pupils. Mike was beginning to think this only happened when the animatronics felt strong emotion – rage, sadness, or in this case, shock. He hastily yanked the pizza shirt on, having to roll the long sleeves up a bit so his fingers peeked through.

The Toy looked away, taking a moment to get herself under control. Mike, sitting on the bed, turned to watch her as she took several deep breaths. Just as she turned around and opened her mouth to say something sweet and comforting, he stopped her.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Despite the higher octave, his voice came out as serious and flat as it ever had as an adult. The chicken, taken aback, paused before nodding.

"Alright, Mikey," she picked up the clothing Goldie had left and moved them to the desk, sitting them neatly beside the toys. "But if you ever _do_ need to talk, I'll be right here, okay?"

Mike had heard that line before – friends, guidance counselors who never bothered to learn the whole truth, his own _mother_. Unlike them, however, he couldn't help but believe Chicky – she hadn't lied to him once yet. He gave her a timid smile and a nod as she came back over and rolled down the bed covers.

"Here you are, dear." She ushered him under the blankets. "You get a good nights rest, and tomorrow everything will be _much_ better, I promise." Once he was tucked in, cocooned in the heavy blankets, she leaned down and pecked him on the forehead in a goodnight kiss. He'd expected it to hurt a bit – like when you poke your finger with a needle – but her beak was made of some kind of flexible rubber, and it just felt nice. "Goodnight, Mikey."

"G'night, Chicky," he muttered back, rolling over and closing his eyes. He could hear the chicken depart, the _whoosh_ of the curtain moving followed by the dwindling sound of her footsteps telling him that she had left.

Mike groaned a bit in annoyance as his eyes snapped open. He wasn't tired at _all_. He was warm, however, and didn't leave the comfort of his cocoon to find something to do. Instead, he reviewed his situation.

He was trapped in a pizzeria with six animatronics.

He was stuck in his six year old body.

An insane puppet was trying to force him to be part of his family, and was utilizing magic to do so.

The other five animatronics seemed sane but doting, if not lonely, so they presented no threat.

He was fed, clothed, sheltered, and apparently well-liked here.

He was kind of hoping he wouldn't have to leave.

That last thought kept Mike away for almost an hour – not leave, _really_? Where had that thought come from? Was it that Stockholm-Syndrome stuff he'd heard about on the Discovery Channel once? Where people fell in love with their captors? There was a Disney movie about it – Beauty and the Beast. Was he becoming one of those insane people? Was he going crazy?

Was it really that much of a surprise if he was?

Heavy footsteps snapped him from the depressing thoughts, and Mike swiftly shut his eyes and slowed his breathing, feigning sleep. He had rolled over so he was facing the door, and through his lashes he watched as Teddy lumbered into the room.

The bear meandered over to the bed, trying to keep his paws light on the floor. Mike shut his eyes all the way and carefully made sure his chest and shoulder was rising in a steady pattern. He could feel Teddy looking at him for a minute, before a soft paw ran through his hair. For a few minutes, the bear simply stood there, petting Mike and humming softly to himself.

Mike was sure he'd heard the tune somewhere before, but couldn't place it. All too soon, it seemed, Teddy's footsteps moved to the other side of the room. Instead of the _whoosh_ of a curtain, Mike heard the rustling of boxes. He squinted through his lashes at the bear, who had opened one of the cardboard boxes that were stacked in the far corner of the room. He pulled out something black and boxy, setting it on a nearby box as he closed the first one back up.

It was a phone, Mike realized when the bear picked up the handset. There were no cords other than the curly wire keeping the handset tied to the base. The guard wondered what Teddy was doing with a dead phone, when the buttons began to beep. His eyes opened a bit wider as the phone lit up a bit, Teddy dialing a long number with quick, precise jabs of his fat finger.

After nearly twenty digits, the other end of the line began to ring, very faint to Mike's ears. Teddy glanced over his shoulder then, checking to see if the boy was still asleep, and Mike obligingly pretended to be. He kept his eyes shut and listened carefully as the other end of the line clicked, and a grumbling voice said something. It wasn't loud enough for him to understand the other end, but he could hear Teddy just fine.

"Hey. Yeah, it's me. Uh-huh. Look, I don't want to bug you, but we've got a situation." A long pause. "Okay yeah, _that_ situation." Another long pause. "Look, I'd trust him with my life, but not with Mikey's. I want you to do it too." An exclamation. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, is there anything you _can_ do?" A long silence, followed by some low muttering. "Pfft. That'd serve him right." Gleeful response. "Yeah, I can handle him, don't worry about that." Laughter. "Heh, yeah. So, how are you 'n' the others doin'?"

As Teddy droned on, Mikey found himself unable to stay awake. His eyes grew heavy, weighed down by Teddy's deep, calm voice. He absently noted that the accent had slipped away a bit – it wasn't nearly as heavy as when Teddy spoke with him. He wondered if it was a human versus animatronic thing, but that thought was quickly replaced by how soft the bed was, and how warm the blankets were, and how very tired (physically, mentally, and emotionally) he was.

The boys eyes shut tight for the night, leading him to dreams of warm bears protecting him from a hulking, belt-wielding shadow.

* * *

 **AN: I am SO SO SORRY! I know I said I'd have this up on Monday, but whenever I tried to log in to , I got an 'error gateway 503 not found' message and couldn't get through. Finally got in tonight though, so here you go!**

 **Remember: ABUSE IS NEVER OKAY. IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS BEING ABUSED, PLEASE CONTACT THE CHILDHELP NATIONAL CHILD ABUSE HOTLINE AT 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453) OR THE NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE AT 1-800-799-SAFE (1-800-799-7233) _._**

 **Thank you for all the reviews! WE BROKE 100! I cherish each and every one. I'd love some feedback on this chapter - a little filler setting up for something that's going to happen in a few days! Please let me know what y'all think! And again, sorry for the delay!**


	10. The Puppet and the Purple Guy

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 10: The Puppet and the Purple Guy**

 _You're an idiot._

"Oh joy, you're back."

 _Honestly, what did you think would happen when they realized what you did?_

"Go away."

 _Ugh, you're such a fucking jackass!_

"Hey, watch your language! Where did you even learn those kind of words..."

 _I've been in your head for twenty years; I've picked up a few things._

"Argh, just _go away_!"

 _No, we need to talk. Go to the mirror._

"Never."

 _Fine. I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, and this is how it goes: I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves-_

"GODDAMMIT, FINE!"

Marion threw down the book he had been reading, not even bothering to mark his page. He was in his brewing lab – a white, pristine room with a nice steel table and everything he needed to make his potions: cauldrons, Bunsen burners, several ingredient cupboards, a sink. Goldie always joked that he should have made it look like a dungeon, similar to what was shown to be the bad guys lairs in fairy tale books, but Marion preferred his clean, _safe_ lab.

Once he was sure the concoction currently bubbling away in his nicest brass cauldron was the correct shade of light blue, he stormed from his lab and into his library. In one corner, between the bookcases and facing the room at a diagonal angle, was a large, broad piece of black velvet draped over something thin and tall. The annoyed puppet removed the velvet with one quick tug, revealing a big, broad mirror. Instead of reflecting the library, it showed a completely different room.

Sky-blue walls were met with a cream white carpet to create a light, airy atmosphere. Toys were scattered all across the floor – blocks, matchbox cars, toy planes, an electric railroad set – and against one wall was a shelf full of books. A small table was covered with coloring books and crayons. A bed was just barely visible in the reflection, covered with bright blankets and ten stuffed animals – one of each of the animatronics, sans Balloon Boy.

The biggest change was in the puppets own reflection. Instead of a tall, willowy figure, there was a child. He was short, maybe six or seven, and wore khaki shorts and a red t-shirt with a picture of Foxy on the front. His hair was messy and short, a strawberry blonde color that looked a bit red in the right light. His eyes, like the puppets, were pure black with white little pupils above the smattering of freckles over his pale skin.

The boy crossed his arms and glowered at the puppet, his brows furrowed. Marion rolled his eyes and mirrored the stance, though his expression was much more annoyed than angry.

"Well?"

"You're a idiot."

"Yes, so you've said." Marion sighed, sitting down so he was closer to the child's height. "Scott, what do you expect me to do? I've given Mike the perfect second chance! I don't want to reverse it – once Mike forgets his past, we will be able to provide for him, _love him_ , and give him a better life."

"But you didn't give him a _choice_." Scott sighed, stomping his foot. "You just did what you wanted, without considering Mike's thoughts or feelings. You're doing that whole 'playing god' thing again."

"I am _not_!" Marion snapped, his mask transforming into a sneer. "I only did what's necessary! This is the safest choice for Mike – a life with us will be infinitely better than a life out _there_." He motioned to the world outside the restaurant. "With the right spells, I can keep him at six-years-old _forever_."

"WHAT?"

Marion didn't move as Scott yelled, jumping up and down, as angry as the puppet had ever seen him. The child cursed several times, spitting in anger.

"YOU GET IN HERE SO I CAN PUMMEL YOUR STUPID MASK TO PIECES!" Scott slammed his fist against the glass, which trembled but didn't break.

"No," Marion continued to sit calmly as the boy threw his temper tantrum. "You're a _child_ Scott, you can't understand what I'm doing."

"I'm _not_ a child! I'm 27!" The boy snarled.

"No, you're _seven_. You've _been_ seven for _twenty years._ Now, if you're done with your tantrum, I need to attend to my brewing." Marion stood and turned away from the mirror, quickly departing from the room. In the mirror, Scott kicked several of his toys and then plopped down on his bed.

"I wouldn't wanna go back to being seven," he muttered to himself. "I wouldn't want another chance – I'd wanna live what life I have." He fingered the bloody hole in his shirt, which was hiding a deep stab wound that had gone straight through his ribs and pericardial sack and into his heart, which had ceased beating only moments after the knife found it. As soon as he was sure the puppet – the vessel where his spirit had become trapped after his death – was gone, he curled up on his pillows and began to cry.

* * *

Mike awoke to quiet darkness, and a soft snoring coming from the far end of the bed. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, squinting in the darkness. A pair of round lumps were curled up in his green-and-blue blanket, brown half-moon shoes sticking out from the end. It took the boy a moment to remember where he was – the dilapidated restaurant with the Toy Animatronic gang.

The room – _his room_ – was oddly dark; normally the hallway light was kept on, so light could filter around the edges of the curtained doorway, providing just enough light to navigate by. The only light in the room currently came from the myriad of glow-in-the-dark stars that hung from the ceilings, and a very, _very_ faint glow from the far end of the hall, which barely eked past the curtain. Right now he could barely see the outline of BB, fast asleep at the end of his bed.

Mike wiggled out of the blankets and immediately began to shiver, hugging himself tightly as an unusual biting chill brushed his exposed face and limbs. He tugged the heaviest blanket – a quilt with rainbow squares – off the bed and wrapped it around himself. It dragged on the floor as he hurried over to desk. He shoved his backpack to the floor and clambered onto the chair, which was the only way he could see the top of the desk. The clothes the mysterious Goldie had given him were neatly piled by the fan. He grabbed a pair of fluffy red socks (which matched his pajamas) and plopped down the chair to pull them on. As soon as he was sure his toes weren't going to fall off, he turned to the hallway.

It was...it was awful dark out there, huh? Mike chewed on the tip of his thumb as he looked at the very, _very_ faint light coming from some mysterious source far away. He glanced back at the desk, and his eyes landed on the line of stuffed animals beside the clothes. His fourteen-year-old mind was telling him he was a complete idiot, and that there was nothing scary in the dark, but his six-year-old side was telling him that he needed a traveling companion to survive the long journey. Six-year-old side won out, and he plucked the Toy Chica plush (complete with a pink cotton skirt) from the desk and hugged it to his chest. He hopped off the chair and took a deep breath to fortify himself, then ventured out into the hallway.

It wasn't nearly as dark as he thought it was. At the far end of the hallway, on a stack of crates beside the bathroom doors, was a lantern. It wasn't very bright, but there was enough light for him to navigate the hall. He reached the corner and turned into the main room.

The lights were out in here, too. There were more lanterns – some with oil and wicks, some running on batteries – strategically placed around the room to lend it light. The stage was empty of animatronics, but a soft laugh and the sound of an angry bunny refuting a teasing comment brought his attention to the curtains around Kids Cove. Holding the Chicky plush close with one hand and pinching the heavy quilt around his shoulders with the other, he hurried to the blue wave-painted curtains draped around the smaller stage.

Kid's Cove was a special pirate-themed attraction for younger children, which belonged solely to Mangle and Polly (her once-green parrot puppet). The stage was partially taken up by a jungle-gym pirate ship. The other part had several cushions around a large rocking chair, where Mangle used to sit and read stories for the kids. It was all a bit faded and dusty – even the wall, which had been painted to resemble an island in a dark blue ocean – was chipped and worn.

Mangle was sitting in her rocking chair, her noodley body curled up on the seat. Teddy was standing by the pirate ship with Blue, who was fuming over some comment. Chicky had found the cleanest cushion and was sitting on it beside Mangle. The two girls were speaking quietly, both looking far too amused by whatever was going on with the boys.

"Mikey, you're up!" Mangle smiled at the boy as he climbed up onto the stage. Her eyes lit up when she saw the plush chicken in his arms, and nudged the animatronic beside her. Chicky beamed when she saw the boy's choice of toy, though she didn't say anything – Teddy beat him to it.

"Good morning, Mikey. Or should I say evening?" He chuckled, glancing at the pirate-flag clock on the wall. It was nearly ten at night.

"Hi," Mike sat on one of the cushions beside Chicky, pulling his quilt so it layered over his lap, warming his legs and toes. "Why is it so cold in here?"

"The power's out," Blue muttered, glancing out the gap in the curtains. Mike followed his gaze and saw the snow piled up against the windows. A wicked wind was whipping along the street – he could hear it battering the roof and rattling the windows as it passed. "A huge storm has moved in – even Marion can't get the power back up."

Mikey grimaced at the name, and snuggled deeper into his quilt. Chicky patted his head gently. "I'll get you something to eat, dear." She quickly left the cove, heading over to kitchen. The puppets box popped open, and Marion poked his head out and exchanged a few words with her. After a moment, she smacked him on the head and strode into the kitchen, her beak in the air. A scowling puppet retreated to his box, snarling angrily.

"Teddy?" The boy looked up a the bear, a nervous gleam in his eyes. Teddy moved to sit down beside the boy, taking Chicky's clean cushion.

"Wha' is it, Mikey?" He asked in his deep, gentle voice.

When the boy didn't immediately speak, the bear rubbed his back. Blue moved to sit on Mangle's other side, his eyes guarded but curious. Mike took a deep breath, then decided he needed to know.

"Who's the Purple Guy?"

There was a clatter as Chicky, who had just come back, dropped the plate she had been carrying. Several slices of toast covered with butter and jam splattered against the stage, all landing plain-side up.

"I'm so sorry!" Mikey immediately apologized, lunging out of his quilt and beginning to gather up the fallen bread. "I'm sorry I surprised you, I'm sorry!"

All four of the animatronics glanced at each other as the boy rapidly apologized. Chicky had told them about the scars she'd seen on his back, and it hadn't taken much of a leap for them to figure out that Mikey had been subjected to several abuse while he was a child. They'd all been programmed to identify and understand the signs and symptoms of abuse, as well as how to appropriately report it to the police. Their connection to the police station had long been cut, however, so they only had themselves to rely on while trying to help Mikey.

"It's okay, dear," Chicky stooped down to take the bread from Mikey's hands, "it wasn't your fault." She picked up the fallen plate and put the toast on it. "Here, let me get you some more toast."

"Oh, no, it's okay, I can eat that," Mikey insisted, "Don't go through any extra trouble for me!"

Chicky gave him a reassuring smile. "It's no trouble – I'll be back in two shakes of a tail feather!" She disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Mikey, c'mere," Teddy motioned the boy back over to the cushions. As soon as the child had sat back down, he folded the quilt in half and draped it back around the tiny shoulders. He made sure the boy was completely covered from the neck down, his arms clutching the Chicky doll beneath the heavy quilt. It was much too chilly for the child to be without some kind of blanket or heavy clothing. "Now, where did ya hear 'bout the Purple Guy?"

"Yesterday, after Marion gave me the potion, Chicky said he was ' _just as bad as the Purple Guy_.' Who's the Purple Guy?"

"A very bad man," Chicky had returned with fresh, warm toast, which was covered with melting butter and jams. She placed it in front of the boy, who immediately grabbed a piece and began to nibble on it.

"Teddy," Mangle was leaning on the arm of her rocking chair, her mis-matched eyes full of concern as she watched the boy eat, "I think we should tell him."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? He's just a kid." Blue frowned, tugging on one of his ears. He wasn't particularly enamored with the child like the others were, but that didn't mean he wanted to cause the boy undue stress.

"I'm not-"

"-A kid, we know," the bunny groaned. Mikey scowled at him and viciously bit down on his toast.

"Mikey is right," Teddy patted the boy on his head, as Chicky found another cushion and dragged it over to join their circle. "He's old enough to understand what happened."

All the animatronics fell into a thick silence, each trying to formulate a way to begin the story. Mike continued to nibble his toast, waiting patiently for them to fill him in. He had almost finished the last, delicious slice when Teddy finally began, his accent noticeably absent.

"Eight years ago, we hadn't been built." Teddy motioned to his family and himself. "The old restaurant – the one you work at now – was open, with the old animatronics performing. They were always busy; the restaurant was incredibly popular. All of us – the old models and us – are incredibly advanced pieces of technology. Our ability to interact with the customers, remember their names, and play with them created a one-of-a-kind experience. People would come from all over the state to visit.

"The restaurant was constantly full and busy, and notoriously understaffed. The manager paid minimum wage and refused to offer his employees a raise, so only a few ever stayed beyond a few months. During the summer of '85, when the store was completely slammed with several birthday parties, a man slipped into the restaurant and pulled the endoskeleton out of one of the extra animatronics." Blue and Chicky both looked a bit sickly at the thought. Mangle didn't respond, but Teddy grimaced and continued the story, despite their unease.

"He wore the animatronics suit and pretended to be one of us. He lured five children back to the storage room and killed them." Teddy had to stop and close his eyes, getting his emotions under control as the unpleasant memory threatened to overwhelm him. Mike, sensing the animatronics unease, leaned against the bear, offering what comfort he could. The bear gave him a soft smile and continued.

"The man hid until after the restaurant closed, then put the children in the animatronics suits. He escaped, and the bodies weren't found for weeks. The police never caught him, and the restaurant closed soon after. We were built, and so was this building, to replace them."

They sat in silence for a moment, focusing on their own thoughts.

"Why do you call him Purple Guy?" Mike asked after a minute.

Chicky answered that. "It's all we know about him. He tampered with the old animatronics, so they couldn't remember his face. All they remembered was that he wore a purple shirt. Hence, Purple Guy."

There was another few minutes of silence as Mike digested all that he had learned. Finally, he gave them his two cents.

"That sucks."

Surprisingly, Blue snorted, a grin curling his white muzzle. "Yeah, it does." The bunny agreed, reaching over to ruffle the boys hair. Mike gave the abrasive bunny a tentative smile.

"Well, Mikey, we'll be stuck without power until this storm is over. What do you want to do?" Chicky asked.

Mike glanced at Blue, and felt a small smile began to inch across his face. "Monopoly?"

* * *

 **AN: So, the story behind the voice is revealed. Marion doesn't have a conscience - he has a literal voice in his head nagging him to do the right thing. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope y'all enjoyed reading it!**

 **Also: thank you thank you _thank you_ for all the reviews! You guys have no idea how ecstatic I was to wake up after the last update and find fourteen reviews had been posted after less than 24 hours! I want to be a professional novelist (along with a history/English teacher), and to recieve so many positive reviews makes that seem like something I can achieve. I so, so, SO appreciate EVERY SINGLE REVIEW!**

 **Please review if you liked it! And if you didn't, let me know what I can improve on! Lots of love and blessings and cheerful thoughts to all of you wonderful, lovely, amazing, brilliant readers!**


	11. AJ Schmidt

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 11: AJ Schmidt**

"Hah, I _win_! In your face!"

"Honestly, Blue, show some humility!"

"Why should I be humiliated? I won!"

"That's not what – oh forget it."

Mike and Mangle giggled as the bunny and bear argued. Chicky rolled her eyes and put away the Monopoly board – she'd agreed to be banker that time, to stop any squabbling between Teddy and Blue. That had worked for all of five seconds, but that was five seconds more than they would have gotten otherwise. Blue had won this time – he'd snagged all the properties on the last row of the board, and built them up. The only way to skip past his hotel empire was to get a 'straight to jail' card, and that wasn't exactly a pleasant option. Chicky, Mangle, and Mike had been utterly trounced. Teddy had barely scrapped by – he at least had a few one notes and a ten left in his paws as they finally called it quits.

"Who wants a re-match?" Blue asked, rubbing his hands together like an 80's Bond villain, still high on the glory of completely decimating his opponents.

"No one," Teddy answered, slamming the lid down on the box and shoving it to the side of the stage.

"Just because _you_ don't want to lose again doesn't mean the others don't want to play!"

Chicky and Mangle rolled their eyes in tandem and tuned out the fighting males. The two were best friends, and their favorite past time was arguing (though they called it _debating_ ); the girls had long sense learned to ignore it. Mike, still clutching his quilt around himself, moved to the bookshelf beside Mangle's storytelling chair. It was painted with blue waves, lighter blue crests showing movement above simply-drawn fishes. There were a few places on the sides where mischievous kids had signed their names in shaky black marker. All but the bottom shelf were full of thin children's books – the kind with big print and bright, colorful pictures that told more about the story than the text. The last shelf was stacked with plain white drawing paper, printed coloring pages (featuring the Fazbear Gang, of course – the toy versions, if the circles on the cheeks were any indication), crayons, markers, glue, and constructions paper.

Without realizing he was doing it, Mikey began to hum and pulled out the stack of plain paper and the box of crayons. They were as thick as his fingers, meant to be held in stubby toddler hands. There were a few thinner Crayolas mixed in, the paper wrappers faded and torn. The boy carefully pulled out one of each color he could find, placing them in rainbow order beside the paper. Chicky and Mangle pulled their pillows over to join him, not saying anything for fear that he would stop humming.

As soon as he had one of each color, Mike began to scribble on the top paper. Chicky picked out her own piece of paper and began to draw a pizza on it, topping it with odd treats. Mangle picked through the children's books and pulled out her favorite – one specially written and illustrated for Fazbear, Inc. Pirate Foxy and First Mate Vixen: The Adventure of Curse Island. Not exactly Shakespeare, but the children had loved it. The company had made a whole series of the books, featuring the dashing Pirate Captain Foxy and his cheerful first mate Vixen, who went on daring adventures all over the world, in all seven seas. The series had been stocked behind the prize counter, the paper-back covers making them cheap to produce and readily available to the kids for only fifty tickets. Mangle had her own special hard-backed copies, which were much larger and printed on stiff cardboard. It prevented her from ripping the pages, and allowed all the children to see the pages as she read them. The vixen settled back in her rocking chair and began to read, despite having long ago memorized every word and picture.

Balloon Boy wandered into the Cove, his system still booting up. He'd gone to see Mikey late last night, only to find the boy fast asleep on a comfortable bed. He'd never slept on a bed before – they all recharged standing up, unless they were in for repairs. The young-minded animatronic had wanted to try it, so he'd climbed up and laid down like Mikey on the end of the bed. He even pulled a blanket over himself to make sure he was doing it right. The little bot had ended up sleeping far longer than he'd intended – the bed was just so _soft!_ He'd woken up to an empty room and the sound of Teddy and Blue fighting. It hadn't taken long to find them in the cove. The two alpha males were still arguing, while Mikey and the females were sitting by the rocking chair, each lost in their own little creative world.

"What're you drawing, Mikey?" BB plopped down beside his new friend, looking at the page curiously. Mike immediately stopped his humming, the blue crayon he had been scribbling with stilling. Instead of a picture, he had a list of words on his paper, all in a shaky elementary-school scrawl.

 _Friday – kidnapped by him_

 _Saturday – Teddy, food, Monopoly (I won! Hah!)_

 _Sunday – he was a BASTARD and gave me that FUCKING POTION_

 _Monday – Monopoly round 2 (Blue won), ?_

 _Tuesday -_

 _Wednesday -_

 _Thursday -_

 _Friday – My Birthday_

 _Saturday -_

 _Sunday – Antidote_

"It's a calendar." Mikey muttered, folding it up and stuffing it in the pocket on his pajama shirt. "I keep losing track since I sleep most of the day."

"You can always ask us, dear," Chicky assured him, adding a doughnut topping to her pizza.

Mikey giggled when he saw her drawing. "You can't put a doughnut on top of a pizza, silly!" He exclaimed, his voice high in delight. He immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, mortified by how he had just behaved.

Mangle, Chicky, and BB just stared at him, surprised by the childish comment. The boy hunched in on himself, dragging the quilt tighter around himself. "It's okay, Mikey, it's just the potion." Chicky comforted, patting his shoulder. When the embarrassed boy didn't say anything, she went back to her coloring, roping BB into making up his own pizza. Mangle kept one eye on her book and one eye on the boy, hoping the adorable flush in his cheeks would die down and he would return to coloring.

It wasn't until the boy began to cry that they realized he was trapped in another flashback.

* * *

"And now," fourteen-year-old Alexander Schmidt pulled his blue crayon away from the paper and exchanged it for a silver one, "for the rocket boosters!"

"You can't put rocket boosters on a horse, silly!" Six-year-old Michael Schmidt laughed at his big brother, tugging the silver crayon from the older boys hand.

"I can't?" Alex asked, looking puzzled. "Why not?"

"Becaaaaause, real horses don't _have_ rocket boosters!"

"But this isn't a real horse," the older brother took back the crayon, "so I can draw whatever I want!"

Mikey pouted, looking down at his own blocky horse, drawn in a dark brown with a series of spiky brown lines for a mane. "But AJ, Miss Staunch says we can only draw _real_ things!"

"Well Miss Staunch isn't here, is she?" Alex (though he would always be AJ to his little brother), tapped the boy on the nose with the silver crayon.

There was a moment of silence, then a long gasp. "You're _right_!" Mikey grabbed several of the crayons and flipped his paper over, then began sketching out a red horse with a rainbow mane.

"Now you're getting it!" Alex laughed, putting the finishing touches on his own space-horse. He admired the piece for a moment, then grabbed a new sheet of paper and used a pencil to sketch out two astronauts – one smaller than the other – floating out in space.

Mikey was focused 100% on his own picture, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he concentrated on getting the colors in the right order. It wasn't until a door slammed downstairs that he looked up. Both he and AJ stared at each other, waiting with baited breath as heavy footfalls ascended the stairs. They didn't start to breath again until the boots had passed Mikey's door, and the door to their parents room farther down the hall slammed shut.

"Do you think he had a good day?" Mikey asked, his voice small.

"I don't know," Alex grumbled, his good mood evaporating. He put all the focus he could onto the picture, carefully putting himself and his little brother into the faces of the astronaut helmets. Mikey fell silent. He didn't feel like working on his horse anymore. He picked out a new sheet and started to draw a house, with cheerful yellow siding and trees in the front yard. It was a stark contrast to their small, gray house, weed-eaten yard and shriveled shrubbery.

They drew for hours, until they heard their father stomp out of his room and back down the stairs. Alex had homework, but didn't want to leave his brother alone with their father again. It had taken weeks for the belt marks to heal, and the teen was never going to let that happen to his baby brother again, if he could help it.

"AJ?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I miss mom."

"I do, too."

"Can we visit her tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, scout. We'll have to leave early to catch the bus, though."

"Can't daddy drive us?"

Alex stayed silent for a moment, fighting down the acidic vitriol he wanted to spit at the thought of their father accompanying them. "No, Mikey, he can't. He doesn't like to go there, remember?"

"Oh yeah. He cried a lot the last time, didn't he?"

"Uh-huh." _Crocodile tears, the drunk bastard_ , the teen tacked on in his mind. "I have some change saved up – we'll go to there tomorrow. Hey, lets draw some pictures for mom, I'm sure she'd like that."

Mikey perked up at the idea, then wilted. "But...but she won't be able to see them!"

"Sure she will," Alex scooted around the table and put his arm around Mikey's little shoulder. "Do you remember where mom is now?"

"H-heaven?"

"Right. Mom can see everything from heaven, even us, and I'm certain she'll be able to see our pictures."

The little boy gave a sharp nod and grabbed a brown crayon. "I'm gonna draw her a cat!"

Alex moved back to his spot and grabbed a new piece of paper, abandoning the astronaut drawing for now. "That's a good idea. Mom liked cats." He calmly began to sketch out a bouquet of flowers, keeping one ear to the door, listening for any sign of danger.

"AJ?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You won't ever leave, right?"

"Nah, Mikey. Never. You're stuck with me 'til the bitter end."

The six-year-old beamed at his older brother, assured that they would be together throughout this dreary childhood, and would escape when AJ turned eighteen and could take him away.

* * *

"Where the hell were you?"

"We just went to the cemetery."

"The _cemetery_? You trying to get your brother into some necro-phalic fetish?!"

"What? No! We were visiting mom!"

"Yer mom is _dead_! Ya can't visit her no more!"

"We can go to her gravestone, can't we?"

"No! I forbid it! Don't you _ever_ go there again, ya hear me?"

"You can't do that! It helps Mikey, knowing there's a place he can go to talk to her."

"He can talk to her here, like a good God-Fearin' Christian! No more lurkin' in the cemetery, waiting to jump some corpse and bone it!"

"Dad, that's disgusting!"

"No, _you're_ disgusting! Can't believe something as ugly and vile as you came from me!"

Mikey, crouched at the top of the stairs, hidden by the shadows, peered down into the living room where his father and brother were fighting. They'd ended up spending a long time at the cemetery, telling mom all about what was going on at home, and hadn't gotten back until after dad. He'd arrived home to no dinner and a messy living room, and by the time they got off the bus he'd been in a rage. AJ had sneakily shuffled him off upstairs and taken on their dad by himself. Mikey really, _really_ wanted to go help, to apologize to their dad and promise not to go to the cemetery again, but his dad was wearing _that_ belt, and it petrified him. So he crouched, frozen, on the second floor landing and eavesdropped.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get _out_! You're fourteen, obviously old enough to take care of yourself. Get the hell outta my house."

"But-"

Dad grabbed Alex by the front of his shirt and dragged him up, so they were face to face, the teens toes barely touching the floor. The mans face, red from years of alcohol abuse and harsh work in a nearby tire factory, cradled a pair of blood-shot eyes that were beyond mad.

"Get. Out. Go upstairs. Pack your things. And leave."

Alex swallowed hard, but met his fathers gaze. "Then I'm taking Mikey with me."

"No you ain't. Mikey's gonna stay here. He's a _good boy_. You're nothing but a disobedient _brat_."

"I'm no-"

"Get out or I'll take the belt to Mikey again." The man threatened, dropping his disowned child to the floor. "One stroke for every minute it takes you to leave."

"No! No, I'm going, okay? Don't hit him." Alex warily got to his feet and edged around his father and up the stairs. The second he saw Mikey, he went pale. Grabbing the younger boys arm, he steered them into his room.

"You aren't really going, are you?" Mikey asked the second the door was shut.

"I have to," Alex made his brother sit on his bed, then began gathering his clothes to shove into a duffel bag he'd gotten for camp a few years ago, when their mom was still alive and their dad didn't drink as much.

"But-but-but we're supposed to go _together_!" Mikey protested, getting off the bed and wrapping his arms around his brother. Alex paused his packing to hold the younger boy close, fighting back his own tears as his brother sobbed.

"I know," he soothed, running his fingers through the messy black hair his little brother could never tame, "I know we were, but this has changed. I'll be back for you, alright?" He pushed the boy away and used his thumb to wipe away Mikey's tears. "I'll get some money and find a place to stay and then I'll come get you."

"W-w-why can't you go to the police? Daddy can't kick you out – you're not _old_ enough to live by yourself! It's gotta be illegal!" Mikey protested, only to quickly be hushed.

"Shhh, he might hear you," Alex glanced at the door, then sighed. "I've tried to go to the police before, remember? At school? Dad lied his way out of it – he has buddies on the police force. He's always buying them drinks and buttering them up. They'll never believe they're hitting us." He took a deep breath, straightening his spine. "We're on our own. But it's okay. Remember what I told you?"

"We're strong." Mikey mumbled, feeling anything but at the moment.

"Right. We're strong. We're a lot stronger than dad." He wrapped his brother in another hug. "I will come back and get you. I promise. For now, just be strong."

"But AJ-"

"Promise me."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll be strong, that you'll hold out until I can come get you."

"I-I promise."

"And if you find a way out – if you find an adult you can trust and tell about what happens here, do it. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good." Alex ruffled his hair again and slung his hastily packed bag over his shoulder. "I love you, Mikey."

"I love you too AJ," Mikey sniffed back the tears threatening to run down his face. "Don't die."

Alex snorted at the sentiment – his little brother had always been a little blunt. "I won't." There was a crash from downstairs, and the older boy tensed. "I'll be back, I swear." Without a backwards glance, he left, swiftly loping down the stairs and through the living room, showing his father that he was, indeed, leaving. Upstairs, Mikey sat on his brothers bed, clutched his brothers pillow, and cried tears for his brother, who he didn't know if he'd ever see again.

* * *

 **AN: Guess who has two thumbs and got sick the past week? This girl! I'm much better now, but sorry about the lack of updates. My motivation went right out the window (along with my ability to breathe through my nose. Ugh!).**

 **I feel like the last part, between Mikey & AJ was a a bit stilted, but I was trying to convey the urgency AJ felt at getting out of the house before his dad decided to use the belt again. He really doesn't think he'll be gone for more than a few days, maybe a week. **

**As always, thanks for the reviews! I'm astounded at this stories popularity, and it warms my heart to see so many people enjoying it.**

 **Reviews are LOVED and APPRECIATED! I'd love to see what people think of this new twist in Mikey's life. There's plenty more twists and turns to come, of course. Cheers!**


	12. The Bite of '87

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 12: The Bite of '87**

 _Hush little Mikey, don't say a word..._

What was that?

 _...Chicky's gonna buy you a mockingbird..._

Was someone..singing?

 _...and if that mockingbird don't sing..._

It was an odd voice – feminine, yet with a tinny tone, like a woman singing through a metal pipe.

 _...Chicky's gonna buy you a – oh darn, what's the next one, Mangle?_

Huh. He didn't remember that being in the song.

"It's a 'diamond ring', Chicky. How could you forget? You have a _hard drive._ Is your memory corrupted?"

"Oh hush, Blue! I haven't sung this song in _forever_."

Mikey squinted up at the lights of Kids Cove, as well as the yellow animatronic holding him. He had to blink several times for the world to come back into focus – his eyes were itchy and sticky, like his forehead had been dripping with sweat. Apparently, he was lying in Chica's lap – well, kind of. He was too tall to cuddle like a baby, so she had him cradled with his legs over one arm of the rocking chair, and his head and upper body held up against her chest. She was using her toes to rock back and forth, gently swaying him as she argued with Blue in a hushed hiss.

The boy, still out of it, muttered, "Mommy?"

Chicky immediately stilled the rocking chair and peered down at him, surprise showing clearly in her glass eyes. "No dear," she answered after a moment, "It's me, Chicky, remember?"

"Oh, oh right," he flushed and struggled to slide off her lap. Sensing his discomfort, she helped him, setting him on his feet and trying in vain to fix his messy hair. He ducked away from her tugging fingers. "What happened?"

"You had another flashback, love." Mangle, who had been swinging from the ceiling, dropped to the floor and stood beside him. She put her suited paw on his back, rubbing soothing circles. "Do you want to tell us about it?"

"I saw my brother," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes, which were sticky from sweat. He refused to believe that he had been bawling – again – in front of the animatronics.

"You have a brother?" Mangle asked in delight – maybe this mystery brother could help Mikey out, give him a home? She wiggled her noodle body in excitement. "Is he bigger or littler than you?"

"He – he was older," Mike muttered, and Mangle immediately noted the past-tense and deflated.

"O-oh." The head on Mangle's shoulder – the head of Polly, her parrot – drooped as well at the realization. "What happened to him?"

Mike shrugged, looking at his feet, digging a sock-clad toe into the large round, sea-foam colored rug that sat beneath the rocking chair. "Don't wanna talk 'bout it." He took a shuddery breath, and Mangle went back to rubbing his back.

"Okay, okay," she soothed, putting as much sympathy and understanding into her voice as possible. "Hmm, it's getting late," she glanced at the clock, which showed it was nearly five in the morning. "Chicky, why don't you find our little Mikey some dinner?"

Mike almost wanted to protest at the nickname – _'their little Mikey' ?_ \- but a warm, fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest stopped him. They...they wanted to _claim_ him? They didn't think he was a bad boy? Despite the knowledge in his fourteen-year-old brain, Mikey's six-year-old emotions surged. They _liked_ him!

"Mangle," he looked up at the fox as Chicky left to grab some left-over pizza for a simple dinner, "Can you read me a story?"

"Well of course, love!" Mangle immediately acquiesced. She dropped her noodley body down on one of the cushions and pointed to the bookshelf. "Go pick one out and we'll read it together."

Mikey happily sorted through the books and pulled out a pile of the Foxy and Vixen series, appraising the dramatic cover art. He carried every one he could – eight in all, though there were seven more on the shelves that he couldn't fit into his already overwhelmed arms – back to her.

"That's more than _a_ story," she teased, accepting the first book he handed her. Mikey dropped the rest in a pile beside the fox and grabbed the cushion he had been using earlier, while playing Monopoly and coloring. He dragged it to her side and sat so he could see the pictures. Obligingly, Mangle began to read the story, happy to have an audience once more.

* * *

Mangle was the best book reader _ever_ , in Mike's humble opinion. She did voices, moved the book up and down to simulate waves and earthquakes, and waited just the right amount of time before turning to the next page, making him sit on the edge of his cushion.

She'd gotten through five of the eight books before the boy began to droop, leaning against her as she read. The fox continued to read until he shut his eyes and began to let out soft, squeaky snores. Teddy and Blue – both of whom had been listening to her read, enjoying what had once been a normal past time that had long been neglected – both grinned at the sound. Chicky let out a quiet 'awe' from where she sat in the rocking chair, holding Mikey's empty dinner plate in her lap. Mangle shushed them all as she gathered the boy in her arms, enjoying the feel of a warm body against her own once again. Half-asleep, he opened one eye and looked up at her. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her neck and laid his head against what was left of her chest suit, falling back asleep. This elicited more another 'aw!' from Chicky, and surprisingly one from Teddy as well. Mangle rolled her eyes and, with a bit of difficulty, left the cove on her feet.

The partly-destroyed animatronic had gotten used to swinging and crawling along the ceiling – it was much faster than walking, and was a good spot to hide when she wanted to be alone. Thanks to the repairs she'd been doing, however, she had almost her complete endoskeleton back in order. Other than the length of her limbs and the lack of a suit, as well as the extra parrot head, she looked like the others when they took off their costumes to clean them. Walking wasn't a problem, she just wasn't used to it.

Mikey was still snoring squeakily when they reached his room. The fox hummed softly as she tucked him into bed, making sure he had his Teddy and Chicky plushies near by. Once he was cocooned in the heavy blankets, she turned to go.

A hand grabbed her tail, stopping her. "Wait," Mikey muttered, his eyes barely peeking out from the blankets.

"What is it, dear?" Mangle untangled her tail from his fingers and rubbed his head, her smile gentle and a little worried.

"Want you," he muttered, pointing at the desk. Mangle followed his gaze, and felt her pump warm in delight. He was pointing at the pile of plushies. She took the little white and pink plush of herself and handed it to him, pulling a bright (though still sleepy) smile from the boy.

"T'ank you," he muttered, hugging the soft fox to his chest.

"You're welcome. Good night, love." Mangle pressed a fuzzy kiss against his forehead, made sure his blankets were tucked in correctly, and turned out the lantern on his desk as she left. By the time she reached the Cove and the others, she wasn't merely walking on the floor – she was floating on air.

* * *

 _"Just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit._ "

Mikey stared at the man sitting across the table from him, confused. Where was he? And who was this man? It was dark – he could only make out a human-shaped shadow, and by the voice tell it was male.

 _"Uh, they're left in some kind of free roaming mode at night. Uh...Something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long."_

The man seemed to fiddle with something on his wrist – a watch, most likely, Mikey thought. A sense of unease was growing in the pit of the teens stomach – this was a familiar conversation. He had heard this through the phone on his first night of work. At first he'd thought it was a prank, then Bonnie had come to his door, and the game began.

 _"Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day too. But then there was The Bite of '87."_

The Bite of '87. He'd tried to find out about that – asking his boss and looking at old papers at the local library, but he hadn't been able to find anything. He was certain there was an article or five about it, but the librarian hadn't liked the look of his ragged clothes and unwashed face, and had chased him from the building instead of assisting him.

The man on the other side of the table – Phone Guy, Mike had taken to calling him – leaned forward as he chuckled nervously. Mike took one look at the man, and retched.

Phone Guy had once been handsome, he was sure, but now his body was torn to shreds. Metal rods protruded from his chest, shoulders, and pelvis, bloody and broken to sharp points. His arms were obviously dislocated and had been torn asunder, muscle and bone showing through the ripped sleeves of his purple uniform. His face was the worst – a rod had pierced right between his eyes, shattering his nose and orbital bones, leaving one eyeball sunken and bloody, the other hanging from the optical nerve to lie against his cheek.

The man was leaned casually against the table, which Mike finally identified as one of the Formica-topped cheap tables used at the restaurant.

 _"Yeah. I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"_

As he spoke, the front of the man's skull began to crack and flake from his head, revealing a pulsing, bloody clump of brain twitching behind his destroyed eyes.

 _"I-It's amaaaazingggg_."

He opened his mouth, and blood poured out as he man slumped back in his chair, and what little light had been in his eyes disappeared.

* * *

Mike did not wake screaming, as a child who had just had a terrifying dream normally did. Instead, his eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling, his breathing quick as he tried to inflate his stiffened lungs. He was clutching the soft Vixen plush against his chest, and he subconsciously cuddled it as he thought over the dream.

The Bite of '87.

If what he knew of the apparently complex history of Freddy Fazbear's was correct, then _this_ was the restaurant open in 1987. Maybe if he asked Teddy about it, the bear would tell him. They had been pretty forthcoming with information so far – he was sure _one_ of them would tell him.

He crawled out of bed, and finally noticed the ceiling light was on – the power was back. He changed into a pair of jeans and a black shirt with a picture of Blue shredding a guitar on it. Still holding the Vixen plush, he headed for the main room, hoping the animatronics were up and about.

They were, reclining on the stage and enjoying having the heat back on – it was much better than having cold and stiff joints. BB and Mangle were sitting together, pouring over more children's books. Teddy was reclining at the back of the stage, leaning against the wall with his hands folded over his bulgy stomach. He was apparently sleeping, eyes closed and ears twitching as he dreamt. Blue was playing with his guitar again, repairing what looked like a broken string.

"Good morning Mikey!" Chicky put down the cook book she had been perusing to greet him. "Are you hungry?"

The mere thought of food made his stomach turn, as the image of Phone Guy vomiting blood came up in his minds eye. "No, I'm not," he grunted, looking a bit green. He climbed up onto the stage to join them.

"Good shirt, dude," Blue – who had been a bit standoffish ever since Mikey had arrived, more interested in being with his guitar than interacting with the child – gave him a thumbs up before going back to his guitar strings. At the back of the stage Teddy grunted and woke up.

"Oh, Mikey, goo' mornin'." He stood, stretching, and moved to stand beside the boy. "Ya look a bit peaky, m'boy. Wha's wrong?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, rolling the bottom of his shirt between his fingers. "I, um, I wanted to ask you all something."

"Ask away!" Teddy boomed, his voice inviting and cheerful. "Anything ya need, boy."

Mike took a deep breath to steady himself. "What was the Bite of '87?"

Despite the AC pumping heat through the building, the temperature on the stage dropped several degrees. All five animatronics stared at him in shock, obviously not expecting that question. After a moment of silence, Mangle gave a strangled-sounding sob, and scrambled off to Kid's Cove, where she pulled the curtains tight to block out the others.

"Mikey," Teddy grumbled, and the boy automatically winced at what he perceived to be a disapproving tone, "Where did ya hear about tha'?"

"At work," he chewed on his bottom lip. "There was a guy who left me a phone message, and he mentioned it, and you guys were the open restaurant in '87, so I figured you would know what happened."

Teddy sighed, running a paw down his face. "Mikey, that ain't a story any of us are comfortable tellin'."

"But-"

"No." Teddy shook his head. "It's not pleasant, and we don't want to talk about it."

"But – but what about the person who got bit?" Mike crossed his arms and glared up at the bear. "Phone Guy said that he 'lived without a frontal lobe.' So obviously someone bit him. I want to know what happened!"

"Stop acting like a spoiled _brat,_ " Teddy growled in annoyance. To his surprise, Mike took a step back, looking as though he'd been slapped.

Chicky looked ready to berate the bear for his tone, but Blue beat him to it. "Chill, Ted. He's just curious. No need to go calling him names." The bunny glared at his best friend. "It was six years ago – why can't we tell Mikey? Better he hear the whole story from us than from some idiot who doesn't understand it!"

"Mikey doesn't _need_ to know," Teddy growled, looking uncomfortable beneath his friends scrutinizing gaze. "He's just a child."

"What? You're the one who kept pointing out he was an _adult_ before telling him about the _Purple Guy_!"

"W-well that's different!"

Blue rolled his eyes and, after carefully placing his guitar in a stand that kept it upright, stood and pulled Mike to his side. "No it's not. If _you_ don't want to explain, then _I_ will." He tugged Mikey to the edge of the stage, ignoring Chicky and BB (who had been watching the exchange silently, unsure of which side to take) and sat, his feet nearly brushing the floor. He motioned for Mike to sit beside him, and the boy obliged, his own feet dangling far above the tiled floor. Teddy stomped away, down the hall to the party room he'd claimed as his own. Chicky rolled her eyes but followed, dragging BB with her and leaving the two alone on the stage.

"So," Blue leaned back, resting his weight on his arms and he stared up at the ceiling. "As I'm sure you've gathered, the Bite o' '87 is _not_ a pleasant topic. It's not as bad as Teddy is makin' it out to be, of course. First, you've gotta understand something about Mangle 'n' her cove." Both of them looked at the curtains hanging around the Cove. "She was built to entertain the toddlers, 'n' the real young kids. Any child under five were directed to her cove to play – the older kids could play on the jungle gym, of course, but they didn't do it often. Mangle loved the toddlers more than anything. She would spend the whole night re-reading her books so she could tell them just right. One of them always sat on her lap when she read, and she would rock them to sleep or carry them around if they wanted. Her whole existence revolved around making them happy.

"But toddlers are – they're grabby. They like to get their hands on things, they like to pull and tug and rip. Mangle's endoskeleton wasn't put together correctly – some idiot used the wrong screws on her joints, so they were weak. The kids learned that they could pull her limbs apart, then put them back on – they would click into place sometimes. Mangle saw how happy it made them to figure it out, like they were playing some kind of puzzle game, and didn't say anything. At first the mechanics who worked here would fix her up, but then screws started to go missing, and then her suit started to tear. Eventually they stopped using their resources to repair her, and she became a 'pull apart' attraction."

"What?" Mikey was horrified by the thought of the sweet animatronic being pulled apart all the time. "Why didn't they fix her right? Get the right screws? Didn't it _hurt_ her?"

Blue shook his head head, ears waving at the motion. "Nah. We don't feel the same kind of pain you humans do." He tapped the side of his plastic skull. "Our system will send us signals if we're injured, but it's more like slight discomfort instead of real pain."

"Oh, that's...good, I guess. So, what happened?" Mikey glanced over at the cove, absently clutching his Vixen plush closer.

"Being pulled apart all the time began to affect Mangle – she would glitch sometimes when performing, but never bad enough that the managers felt they needed to fix it. We helped her during the night when we could – even Marion tried a few things, but magic can't fix everything."

"Then we got a new night guard." Blue saw Mike's cheeks pale, and he quickly reassured the boy. "We don't have the same glitch as our counterparts, though, so we didn't see him as an endoskeleton without a suit." The boys shoulders slumped with relief, and Blue continued. "His name was Jeremy. Once he figured out we could move and talk at night, and that we were sentient, he worked hard to be our friend. He was on the night shift for only a few weeks, but we all really liked him. He was smart, funny, and enjoyed listening to our stories. It was nice to have a human adult to talk to. At least when he behaved like an adult – he used to act like an absolute _child_ when he played the arcade games."

"Anyway, he eventually got moved to day shift so he could make more money. He wanted to get a bigger apartment – I'm _certain_ he had a girlfriend he wanted to marry that he wasn't telling us about," Blue stopped long enough for Mike to get his giggles under control. "His first day on the job, there was a big birthday party. It was pirate themed – a little girl was turning eight and obsessed with pirates. When Jeremy went to check on Kid's Cove and Mangle, _it_ happened."

"It?" Mike asked, noting the way Blue's ears drooped.

"It." He confirmed. "Mangle was glitching badly – the younger party guests had been playing with her, pulling her apart and putting her back together over and over again. Jeremy went to shoo the kids off to the game corner for a while so she could have a break. Once they were dashing off to the arcade, he tried to pick up Mangle to bring her to the Parts & Services room, only she – she..." Blue stopped and swallowed hard.

After a moment of silence, Mike gently prompted him. "She...bit him?"

Blue nodded. "Yeah," his ears drooped down the back of his head, broadcasting his distress as he remembered that day. "It...it wasn't too bad, you know. He didn't 'lose his frontal lobe,' but there was still a lot of blood. Mangle had turned to say 'thank you' but she glitched and bit down on his head by accident. There was lots of screaming and the kids were terrified and the parents were completely horrified. Management shut down the restaurant and called an ambulance for Jeremy. We were certain that was the last we'd ever see of him."

"Mangle was certain she killed him. She locked herself in Parts & Services and wouldn't come out, no matter what. Teddy was horrified by what had happened, Chicky couldn't stop crying, and BB didn't know what had happened but was sad, simply because we were."

"What about you?" Mike prompted.

"I was – I was angry." Blue frowned at the air in front of him, not meeting the boys eyes. "I knew we would be shut down, and I was sure Jeremy was dead, and I blamed Mangle for it." He lapsed into silence, trying to organize his thoughts around the shame he felt for the way he'd acted so long ago.

"Then that idiot walked through the front doors for an impromptu night shift, grinning like a fool and asking if we thought his stitches were dashing." Blue snorted and shook his head. "Jeremy had some memory loss and has a big ol' scar across his forehead, but other than that was fine. He managed to talk Mangle out of the backroom and forgave her for the accident. She felt awful, and didn't understand how he could just forgive her, but he insisted it was because of a glitch and nothing more."

"Unfortunately the bad press got us shut down." Blue looked around the restaurant – despite being clean and maintained, it still held an air of abandonment and decay. "Management was so impressed with Jeremy that they hired him on as Head Day Guard – he still works at the new restaurant, according to Goldie." The bunny sighed, kicking his feet and staring at the ceiling. "Mangle still blames herself for our being shut down, even though it was an accident."

Mike thought over the story for a minute, digesting all the information. "Does Jeremy come visit?"

"Nah, he thinks we got shut down," Blue shrugged. "Everybody thinks we were shut down – that's what management said they would do. Marion is the only reason we're still active – he saved us from the incinerator."

"They were gonna _destroy_ you?" Mike gasped, eyes wide and fearful at the thought.

"Eh, they thought we were dangerous." Blue shrugged. "Don't worry, Mikey, we're all fine now, and not going anywhere." He patted the boy on the head. Neither said anything for a few minutes. "Are you alright, Mikey? Do you understand what happened?"

"Yeah, I understand." Mike jumped off the stage, landing unsteadily on his feet. He pinwheeled his arms to stay standing, ended up grabbing onto Blue's large feet to stay upright. The animatronic chuckled and stayed still, steadying the kid.

"Where are you off to?" He asked, already having a good idea of the answer.

"To tell Mangle I still like her." The boy answered with six-year-old honesty, making a beeline for the Cove.

He slipped through the curtains to find the cove dimly lit. Mangle was sitting in the rocking chair, her eyes closed, chin propped on her fist as she quietly rocked herself back and forth. Mike quietly crossed to stand on the plush rug in front of her, still clutching the Vixen plush to his chest.

"Mangle?"

She stilled and opened one eye, peering down at him with sadness and hesitation. "Yes, Mikey?" She asked, voice heavy with regrets.

"Will you read to me?" Mikey pulled a book from the shelf and held it out to her, not caring it was one they had read the night before. The fox blinked in surprise, then took the book from his hands, a smile softening her muzzle.

"Of course," she immediately agreed. Mikey picked up one of the smaller cushions and put it on her lap, covering her endoskeleton legs which would be less-than-pleasant to sit on. Mangle helped him up onto her lap, so he was sitting with his back against her chest, and held the book in front of them. With a warmth in her pump she hadn't felt in a long time, Mangle began to read.

* * *

 **AN: Woot! Longest chapter yet! I really liked this chapter, it's laying some groundwork for later in the story. I really enjoyed writing this chapter as well - finally, Blue is getting a bit of love!**

 **I appreciate EACh and EVER SINGLE REVIEW I've recieved! They're all so incredibly uplifting and encouraging and motivating and I love them! Thank you so, so much for them all!**

 **Please review with what you think! I enjoy knowing how to become a better writer, so please let me know what you think I can improve on. Cheers!**


	13. Unlucky Day

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 13: Unlucky Day**

Mike woke after only a few hours of sleep – he hadn't run around nearly enough to burn off the store of six-year-old energy he now possessed. It was nearly noon, and the child had no desire to go back to bed. Still clad in jeans and his Blue t-shirt, he shrugged off the blankets and decided to see if any of the others were still awake. If they weren't, well, he could find a way to amuse himself.

The restaurant was rather dark and silent from the hallway. Mike tiptoed past the party rooms, peering through the open doors to see if anyone was awake. The dim reserve lighting from the hall barely illuminated the animatronics, each of which were standing somewhere in their room, deep in recharge. Even Balloon Boy had fallen asleep, curled up on a pile of old tablecloths next to Mangle. The guard thanked his sock-clad feet that he was light enough to pass by without a sound, leaving the animatronics asleep as he headed for the main room.

Sunshine lit up the stage room with shifting beams, ducking and dodging behind clouds between soft sighs of wind. Mike relished the solitude and quiet while he had it. As much as he liked the animatronic, save Marion, their constant need to entertain him and be aware of where he was and what he was doing was a bit grating. He'd spent the last year on his own in the streets, and the seven years before that alone in his home, fending off his monster of a father.

The boy took a deep breath and released it as a soft sigh, enjoying the way the silence ate up the sound. He wandered slowly to the ceiling-high windows, absently keeping an eye on the puppets box as he did so. Marion didn't make an appearance – he was probably asleep as well, Mike reasoned. Still, he didn't turn his back on the box until he had reached the windows, and even then he was still able to see it reflected in the glass.

The world outside was quiet and white. Snow – two feet deep in most places, three or four where the wind had whipped it into drifts – shone in the sunlight, though it had yet to begin to melt. Nobody was out, at least that he could see. This restaurant was apparently on the 'bad' side of town, where it was mostly empty save the occasional low-income apartment building and homeless transient. The snow had built up enough to give even the hardiest North-Easterner second thoughts about leaving the safety of their homes.

Mike still wasn't 100% sure about staying with the animatronics after he became fourteen again; they were kind, and they apparently _liked_ him for some strange reason, but they were still robots, unchanging and inhuman. He was sure he could look past that, though – they were _sentient_ robots, after all – but the thought of living in the same building as the Marionette made shivers run down his spine. He didn't like the puppet at all – it seemed too intent on getting him to stay. He could have forgiven the kidnapping debacle with time, but the potion and being six-years-old again, as well as the flashbacks and constant mood swings, had hardened Mike's resolve to hate the puppet until his dying day. Or at least until he got to beat the puppet to a bloody pulp in retribution. Either would be fine.

Mike rested his head against the glass (much like he'd done his first night there) and peered out at the street. His gaze went fuzzy as he thought long and hard about what he wanted from the relationships he'd built with the animatronics – friends? Family? Acquaintances who he'd leave after the potion was downed, but always think of faintly and fondly? He certainly didn't think of them as enemies anymore, or even as dangerous (save the obvious black-and-white menace).

A flash of black in the snow caught his eye, and he lifted his head and squinted out at the bright white street. Someone was ducking into the alley across the road from them – he was tall, with messy black hair and pale skin. The boy stopped and glanced back at the restaurant, and Mike felt every atom of oxygen leave his lungs in a stunned gasp.

He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen, around Mike's real age. Until the child, however, he had bright blue eyes (Mike's were a dark chocolate brown), but they both had the messy black hair passed to them from their mother. The stranger had a scar on his jaw – it went from beneath his right ear to just below his lips. It was thin enough that it wasn't noticeable, unless you knew to look for it.

Mike slammed his hand against the glass, not noticing how it trembled beneath his fist. All his focus was pouring into the teen, who had turned and was traversing the snow in the alley. If he waited much longer, the teen would be gone, and he'd be alone again. Mike hit the glass again, even as his vision began to tunnel, just as it had twice before. There was pain in the palm of his right hand, and a voice was hissing in his ear...

* * *

"Mikey. Pst, Mikey, get up!"

Mikey groaned as he was shaken awake. Drool clung to his chin as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and peering blearily up at whatever had woken him. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in the living room, and apparently his father hadn't bothered to take him to his bed.

"Huh? Wh-ALEX!"

Mikey launched himself at his big brother, even as the teen frantically motioned for him to hush. Alex sighed and held his little brother close, relishing the feel of hugging the boy after nearly six months. Mikey's seventh birthday was in a few days, and Alex had decided that come hell or high water, he would be home for it.

"What are you doing here?" Mikey whispered, refusing to let go for fear his brother would disappear again.

"I'm here to take you away, silly." Alex ruffled his brothers messy black hair – a trait both of them carried and were proud of. "I've got a place to stay a few towns over. We're going to get you stuff, leave, and _never_ come back."

"Really?" Mikey gasped.

"Really? A dark, dangerous voice whispered behind them. Both boys froze, dreading to look behind them. After a beat of silence, Alex stood and shoved his bother behind him.

Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a thick sneer on his lips. He was in his pajamas – plaid fleece ones mother had gotten him last year for their final Christmas together. His eyes – the same bright blue as Alex's own – were narrowed and bloodshot.

"You ain't supposed to be here," he hissed, pointing at his eldest son.

"I just came to tell Mikey happy birthday," Alex swallowed, subtly motioning for Mikey towards the doorway that led into the kitchen.

"I told you ta' never come back," Dad hissed.

"No you didn't," Alex corrected, drawing every ounce of courage he had after seeing the fear on his brothers face. "You just told me to leave – you never said I couldn't come back."

"You sassin' me, boy?" Dad began to move around the couch, and Alex shoved Mikey towards the kitchen and motioned for him to hide. The young boy bit his lip anxiously, but obeyed, ducking into the kitchen and hiding beside the door, peering out as his brother and father faced off.

"No, sir," Alex said stiffly, standing his ground as his father came to stand a few feet away.

"Good," Dad sneered. "Now listen and listen good: you're going to leave. Now. And never come back. I'm disowning ya, boy, and you're not welcome here no more."

"I won't leave without Mikey." Alex stayed firm, looking up at his father as the man towered above him, his breath stinking of sour beer and leftover chicken wings.

"Oh yes you will," Dad's fingers curled into fists.

"No," Alex shoved a finger into his fathers chest, "I," he poked the man again, " _Won't_."

The strike came before either child could see it. Dad backhanded Alex with as much force as possible. The boys head rocked back, and he lost his balance, stumbling to the side, away from the couch. He fell, _hard_ , on the glass-top coffee table their mother had found several years ago at a flea market.

If he'd only fallen the other way, Mikey would think constantly over the next eight years, then everything would have been fine. Alex would have left and returned later on to take Mikey away, and they would have lived happily ever after like in the stories their mother used to tell. But no, Alex had fallen to the right, and had landed on the table, shattering the glass and cutting open his skull, as well as slicing open his jaw line.

The teen laid on the floor, unmoving and silent. His eyes were closed, but Mikey couldn't tell whether he was breathing or not. Dad wasn't moving either, thought his eyes were open. They were staring down at Alex in shock, and his arms hung limply at his side.

"AJ?" Mikey took a few steps from the kitchen, moving towards his brother, who didn't move. "AJ, wake up," his voice wavered, and tears gathered in his eyes.

"Mikey," Dad finally moved, his gaze pinning his youngest son, "Go wait in the kitchen. I'm going to take Alex to the hospital." He moved quickly, picking up his son, who's head lolled bonelessly as he was lifted. Blood dripped from the messy black hair, and had already begun to pool on the hardwood floor. Dad shifted his arms, so Alex's head was resting against his shoulder, and Mikey saw something that scared him more than anything else that night: his father was _worried_.

If _dad_ was worried, then Alex was seriously hurt. Mikey obediently went to the kitchen as dad carried Alex out of the house, through the snow to the beat-down Toyota in the drive way. The child sat at the breakfast table, which was by the front windows and let him see the truck peel out of the yard and onto the snow-dusted street. He watched until the tail lights disappeared in the night, going far faster than the speed limit, but for good reason.

After ten minutes, Mikey was too bored and worried to stay still. He got the roll of paper towels from beside the sink and tried to scrub away at the blood on the floor, knowing how much his father hated a mess. The table had been completely shattered, and he used the broom (which was taller than he was) to sweep it into a pile. It took nearly an hour to finish. Just as he was picking up the last shard of glass, the front door was opened and his father stomped in, shivering from the cold – he had, after all, run out in only his pajamas and the boots left by the door.

"Dad?" Mikey leaned the broom against the couch and watched as his father stomped snow from his boots. "Where's AJ?"

Dad looked away, swallowing hard, then knelt in front of his son. This was just as scary as before, when the man had looked worried. He _never_ got down on Mikey's level like this. Large, rough hands rested on his shoulders, trying to convey warmth and comfort, though they only made the child feel small and vulnerable.

"Michael," _oh no, his whole first name!,_ "Alex died on the way to the hospital."

The world dropped out from beneath Mike as mind-numbing shock overwhelmed him. He didn't hear what else his father said, or see the approving look dad gave the cleaned-up living room, or feel the slice of glass he was still clutching cut into his hand, allowing his own red blood to stain the floor alongside his now-dead brothers. He didn't feel his father shake him, or feel his father clean his hand and put butterfly-bandages on it to keep the deep gash closed. For all intents and purposes, he was dead to the world around him.

Just like AJ.

* * *

Mikey fell, and the shock of it snapped him out of the flashback. He had tripped over something hidden beneath the snow, landing face-first in a snow drift nearly as tall as he was. It wasn't until he had managed to get to his feet that he noticed something rather important: he was _outside the restaurant_.

The boy looked back to see the front doors of the dilapidated building nearly a dozen yard away. The bottom part of one of the doors had been shattered, allowing him to crawl out. There was blood splattering the snow in bright red splotches alongside his footsteps. Confused, Mikey looked down at himself. His right arm was bleeding from several long cuts, some shallow and some deep. Apparently he'd used it to break through the glass. Why had he needed to get outside again?

AJ! He'd seen him across the street! Mikey's head whipped around to peer at the alley, but there was nobody there, and no footsteps to show someone had passed through. The child wilted, and finally began to feel the cold biting through his clothes – he was dressed in only socks, jeans, and a t-shirt, certainly not the appropriate clothing for a snow excursion. He was lucky he was light enough that he wasn't sinking straight through to the parking lot beneath him – instead, the snow only went up to his thighs. Not easy to move through, but possible.

"Michael!"

A pair of hands – long and black, wrists ringed with white stripes – grabbed his shoulders. Mikey yelped and turned to see the puppet standing by the door to the restaurant, an unhappy expression on his face. The hands seemed to stretch, becoming large enough to wrap around his torso. The boy found himself yanked back to the building, his toes barely skimming the snow as he was reeled in like a fish.

Marion shoved him through the hole he'd made in the door, and Mikey was immediately steadied by a pair of bright blue hands. He was pulled away from the door, which allowed the puppet to awkwardly crawl through. He looked at the glass shards for a few moments, his eyes glowing brightly. With a tinkling like bells, the glass shuddered, then flew back into place in the pane, melding together to reform the window.

"Michael Jay Schmidt, just _what_ were you _THINKING_?" Marion hollered as he turned on the young boy, who was shaking with cold and the the after-effect of the flashback.

"Not now, Marion," Blue snapped, pulling Mike into his arms and peeling off his soaking-wet socks, which he dropped to the floor. "We need to get Mikey warmed up before he gets hypothermia." He strode past the protesting puppet and to the kitchen. The boy looked over the bunnies shoulders to see if the others were around, but apparently Blue was the only one awake. Well, other than Marion.

The kitchen was quiet without Chica banging around. Blue set Mikey down on the counter closest to the industrial-sized sink. It wasn't as large as an actual bathtub, but for a six-year-old like Mikey it would do the job. Without a word, Blue began to fill the sinks, making sure the water was at room-temperature; it couldn't be too hot, or it would just hurt Mikey. Speaking of the boy, he was still in his soaking-wet clothes. He hadn't moved or said anything since Marion had pulled him back inside.

Only minutes before, Blue (who had more sensitive hearing than any of the others) had been woken up by the sound of shattering glass and Marion yelling. He'd rushed into the main room and found Marion crawling through the broken door to retrieve Mikey, who was standing several yards away from the store in the snow. Blue had made it to the door just in time to catch the freezing cold child. They had basic first-aid programming, and he knew that to warm a person up, a room-temperature bath worked best.

Mike was quiet as Blue gently removed his shirt and jeans – he didn't fight, just sat there, his eyes focused on something far beyond the rabbit. He left Mikey's underwear on, not wanting to make the boy uncomfortable, and checked the stainless-steel sink, which Chicky thankfully kept spotless. Once it was half-way full, he pulled Mikey into his arms. He'd noticed the scars on the boys back, but didn't say anything – if the kid wanted to tell them, he would.

"Blue?"

The soft voice startled him, and Mike's arms came up to wrap around his neck. "Yes, Mikey?"

"I want my brother."

Tears hit his blue exoskeleton, and the rabbit rubbed his back. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Mikey." He pressed his nose against the child's head. "It's okay to miss your brother," he whispered, gently bouncing the boy like he'd seen Chicky doing. He wasn't the most touchy-feely of the group, but for Mikey, he would do his best.

"I'm cold," the boy muttered a minute later.

"I know," Blue, happy the child was at least coherent, pointed to the sink. "C'mon, let's get you into the bath. You'll warm up in no time!"

Mike seemed a bit hesitant, but didn't fight as Blue dipped his toes into the water. It wasn't boiling hot, like he'd been expecting. Instead, it was like he'd walked into a warm room. He sunk into the water as Blue let go, sitting so the water went up to his shoulders. He sighed in relief as warmth flooded his veins. The animatronic, once sure that Mikey wasn't going to drown, moved to grab one of the plastic kiddy cups. He returned to the sink and, thanking their creator that their suits were lined with rubber at the joints to prevent water shorting them out, used it to scoop up water and poured it over the boys head.

"Hey!" Mikey protested, though there was a faint sound of amusement in his voice. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, dashing water from his lashes. Blue laughed apologetically.

"Sorry!" He used his hand to keep the water from flooding down the boys face as he poured another cupful over his head. "We need to get all of you warmed up. You were outside in that snow for almost ten minutes before Marion managed to grab you."

"It's a good thing you didn't leave the parking lot," Marion growled as he entered the kitchen, holding a fluffy towel and Mikey's pajamas. "A few steps more and I wouldn't have been able to get to you."

Mikey shrunk down in the water, so only his face above his nose was visible. He glared at the puppet over the edge of the sink, his wet bangs dripping in his eyes.

"Thanks, M!" Blue took the towel and clothes from the puppet and put them down on the counter beside the sink. "Are you all warmed up, kiddo?"

Mikey didn't answer – he was still glaring at Marion. The puppet rolled his eyes but left, not looking happy about it. Once he'd gone through the doors, the boy stood and shook water from his hair. Blue hit the lever that stuck out from the bottom of the sink, which opened the drain. The water was sucked away, leaving a considerably warmer Mikey standing there in his briefs. Blue wrapped the fluffy towel around him before picking him up. The boy leaned against his chest, head nestled in the crook of his neck. Blue slung the pajamas over his other shoulder, deciding to help the boy dress in his bedroom.

"I think you need to go back to bed," Blue said softly, backing through the swinging doors and crossing the stage room.

"Mmmm." Mikey didn't protest like a normal six-year-old would. He just huffed and closed his eyes.

"No arguments? You must be tired!" Blue teased as they quietly passed the party rooms and into the office. "Here, dry yourself off." He set the boy on the floor and went to the desk, looking through the pile of clothes for dry underwear. Mikey obligingly rubbed himself off with the towel. Just as he finished toweling his hair, a pair of clean briefs hit him in the face.

"Hey!" He glared at the chuckling animatronic.

"Put those on – I won't look." The bunny swore, his ears drooping over his eyes. Mike rolled his eyes but quickly changed, thankful that the animatronics understood the concept of modesty. "Are you decent?"

"Yeah." As soon as he'd answered, the pajama bottoms landed on his head. "Hey! Stop throwing stuff!" He growled, yanking them off his face.

"Sorry," Blue gave him an innocent look before moving to scrounge through the drawers of the desk. Mikey pulled on the pants and climbed onto his bed, watching the bunny search.

With a triumphant 'aha!' Blue pulled a white first-aid kit from the depths of one of the drawers. "Here we go," the bunny sat on the bed beside the boy and threw open the box, revealing it to be barely-touched and packed full of bandages, gauze, tape, ointments, alcohol swabs and a variety of pill bottles. "Hold out your right arm."

Mike moved to sit so that he was facing Blue and held out said arm, which was covered with scratches from breaking through the glass door. Most of them had stopped bleeding by now, though there were two that were deeper and still oozing blood. Blue pulled out a box of special Band-Aid's that had been printed with the animatronics cartoony figures. A tube of antibiotic ointment was also pulled out, and Blue carefully traced it over the cuts, stopping the bleeding and ensuring none of them would become infected. A Vixen bandage went on one of the cuts, and a Teddy one on the other. The bunny rubbed the antibiotic ointment over the smaller cuts but didn't bother to bandage them – they were done bleeding and would heal easily in a few days.

Throughout it all, Mike was quiet, watching as Blue fixed him up. This was the first time since AJ died that anybody had bothered to help him fix his cuts. The idea of leaving the restaurant was becoming less and less appealing – would it really be such a bad thing to live here? He could work at the other restaurant during the night and stay here during they day.

"Mikey?"

"Huh?"

"I'm done," Blue had stood up and put away the first aid kit, and was now holding out the pajama top. Mike reached out to grab it, but to his surprise the bunny yanked the shirt out of reach and grabbed his wrist. He squinted as he peered down at Mike's right palm. There was a long, thin line across his palm. Blue released his wrist, but traced the scar before letting him go completely. Mikey yanked his hand back, holding his unblemished left hand out instead. Blue handed him the shirt, which he hastily yanked over his head.

"Mikey," Blue pulled back the blankets so Mike could slide into bed. When he didn't continue, the boy gave him an odd look, settling back against the fluffy pillows. The bunny smiled, touching the back of Mikey's right hand, an odd, protective look in his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mikey," Blue moved the Vixen plush into the kids arms. "Get some sleep. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay." Mikey rolled onto his side, hugging the plush to his chest. Blue patted his back before moving to the doorway and shutting off the light.

"Goodnight, Mikey." Blue was almost out of the room before he heard Mikey's hushed response.

"Night, bro."

Though he was sure it was a slip of the tongue, Blue went back to sleep with a huge, delighted grin on his face.

* * *

 **AN: Eh, not my favorite chapter. Had trouble writing after Mikey's flashback. What do you all think?**

 **Thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the reviews and compliments. I adore and cherish each one!**

 **Please REVIEW! They'll be well taken care of, I promise!**


	14. Is It Lupus?

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 14: Is It Lupus?**

Blue was the first awake that night – he was still smiling as he left his room and headed down the hall, wondering what they would be up to tonight. Maybe he could teach Mikey how to play the guitar! He never let anybody else touch his guitar, but Mikey was a responsible kid, he wouldn't hurt the guitar. As the bunny pushed aside the curtains to the office-turned-bedroom, he thought about the first song he should teach the boy – Mary Had A Little Lamb, maybe? It wasn't too difficult.

"Hey, little bro!" Blue _loved_ the way the words felt. _Little_ rolled through his mouth, tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth and back of his buck teeth, while the _bro_ popped out like a kernel of popcorn in a hot pan. He didn't really need to move his mouth – his voice box did all the work, but he and the others felt odd when they didn't simulate speaking.

Speaking of moving, the lump on the bed hadn't done so. Blue skipped to the blankets and pulled the blue comforter down, revealing the fluffy black hair of the still-sleeping Mikey.

"Rise and shine, kiddo!" Blue ruffled the hair, eliciting a moan from beneath the covers. Mikey, who had been curled up on his side, back to the door, rolled over and looked up at the bunny.

"Blue?" The child winced as he spoke, his voice sounding rough and pained. Blue's eyes widened as he took in the flushed cheeks and glassy eyes staring up at him from shadowed eyes. The boy reached up and rubbed at his face with a fist, which he then dropped back to his face. "Wha' time 's it?"

The rabbit, all thoughts of guitar playing gone, rested his paw on the boys forehead and immediately wanted to pull it away – he was burning up! "It's late, Mikey," he smoothed the boys sweaty bangs away from his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Blech." The boy stuck his tongue out at the question – he felt _awful_. His head hurt, and his chest was achy and any time he tried to take a deep breath his lungs seemed to freeze up. It felt as though he'd swallowed a handful of razor blades every time he tried to swallow, and even though he was beneath a pile of blankets, his fingers and toes felt frozen.

"That good, huh?" Blue smirked, but it was amused, not mean. He kept smoothing the boys hair back, eyeing the child in concern. He should really go get Teddy or Marion – they knew more about sick children than he did. Then again, if he got the puppet, Mikey might never speak to him again – the boy _loathed_ the puppet. "You're burning up," he pulled his hand away and re-tucked the blankets around the skinny child. "You stay right here – I'm going to get you some water."

The boy nodded, shutting his eyes and letting his head sink back into his pillows. Blue hurried out of the room and poked his head into the nearest party room – the one Teddy had taken as his own. The walls were covered with posters from the restaurants heyday, as well as little trinkets that had been left when they were shut down. The bear himself was sitting in one of their reinforced steel chairs (painted to look like the white wooden chairs in the main room), a thin needle held delicately between his fat fingers. Clutched in his other hand was his top hat, which was missing it's signature red ribbon. He had that held between his polymer teeth, one end frayed from years of use.

"Teddy, Mikey is sick!" Blue watched the bear jump, dropping the needle. He spluttered, spitting out the ribbon, and searched around his feet for the tiny sliver of metal.

"Darn it all, Blue, I've told ya to knock 'fore you come bargin' in!"

The rabbit rapped his knuckles against the doorway several time, each knock punctuating a word. "Mikey. Is. _Sick_."

"Aw, _heck_." Teddy swore, immediately getting to his feet with a few groans of gears. He dropped his hat and the ribbon to the seat and headed for Blue, who stepped into the hall. "Wha's wrong with the boy?"

"He's hot and all red in the face," Blue motioned to the curtains. "And his voice sounds really weird. Like, _rough_ , that's a good word for it. Like when we start glitching, sort of, only he's not stuttering."

"A cold, mos' likely," the bear grunted, moving towards the office. "I'm gonna check on 'im myself."

"I'll get him some water," Blue headed in the opposite direction, "Be back in a tail shake!"

True to his word, the bunny was back in two minutes flat, Mikey's kiddy cup clutched between his paws and filled with ice water. In that time Teddy had gone into the office and sat on the edge of Mikey's bed. He had felt the boys forehead, and pulled back a few of the heavier blankets to keep the boy from getting too terribly hot. "Ah, 'ere comes Blue with your water," he helped Mikey sit up, pushing the fluffy pillows behind him to keep the boy upright. The rabbit handed over the cup, and he eagerly gulped down the water, relief immediately flooding his abused throat.

"Thanks, Blue," Mikey croaked after he'd gulped down half the glass. Teddy took the cup from him and set it on the crate beside the bed, which was currently serving as a night stand.

"Yer burnin' up, kid," Teddy sighed, absently patting the boys leg, which was barely visible beneath the heavy blankets. "Yer not gettin' outta bed tonight, 'kay?"

Mikey sighed but was smart enough (and felt awful enough) that he didn't protest. "Okay, Teddy."

"Good boy," the bear praised. "I'm going to look something up. Blue, can you keep an eye on 'im?"

"Of course!" Blue moved to sit in the spot Teddy had just vacated, a proud smile on his face at being put in charge of looking after the boy. Once Teddy was gone, he put all his focus on the child. "Can I get you anything, Mikey?" He asked, his ears bent forward to catch whatever he said, no matter how soft.

Mikey shrugged, looking at his lap and fiddling with his fingers. He'd been sick before, plenty of times – colds, flues, sinus infections, a bad case of strep, pink eye (twice), and more than one concussion – but he'd never had someone to look after him. Sure, dad got him the medicine or, if it was super serious, took him to the emergency care clinic, but he didn't sit at his bedside and look after him. He didn't bring him water, or soup, or books to read. Most importantly, his father never hugged him, held him, and told him it was all going to be alright.

Without realizing it, Mike lifted his arms out to the rabbit. He nearly dropped them, his face flushing in mortification (alongside the fever), but Blue was quicker. The bunny scooted himself farther onto the bed so he could prop himself up against the wall, then pulled the child into his lap, hugging him close. They sat like that for a while, Mike pressing his hot face against the cool plastic and metal of the animatronics suit. Neither spoke – Blue understood what the child needed and was happy to provide it, and said child was stunned at being given what he'd unintentionally asked for.

By the time Teddy had returned almost an hour later, Mike was fast asleep, draped over a quietly watching Blue's lap.

* * *

Mike was feeling a bit better when he woke up. He remembered falling asleep on Blue while the bunny hummed, but not much beyond that. Without opening his eyes, he was able to tell he was back in the bed, tucked under the blankets. Someone was in the room with him – he could hear shuffling and the shift of cloth. Most likely it was Chicky then – she was the only one with real fabric, in the tulle wings attached to her arms.

He rolled onto his side so he was facing the door, wondering if he could trouble the chicken for some soup or broth. It still hurt to swallow, and he was sure his stomach would refuse anything as acidic and heavy as pizza (as delicious as it was). After a small yawn, he finally opened his eyes and looked up at the yellow animatronic staring down at him.

"YAAAAAGH!"

The yellow animatronic – not Chicky, definitely _not_ Chicky! - jerked backwards when the boy yelled, nearly tumbling off the chair he'd brought into the room. Mike scrambled out from beneath the blankets and backed away until he was squished in the corner, where the mattress met the wall. He stared at the yellow animatronic in horror, panting as his sick lungs tried to keep up with his sudden need for extra oxygen.

He'd see this animatronic once before, the third night of his job. He'd been distracted by Foxy while the camera was on '2B', and when he'd put the tablet down, the large golden bear had been sitting in front of his desk, slumped down like a dead body. His vision had wavered, and he could have sworn he'd heard somebody whisper _'It's me'_ right in his ear. Then Chica had popped up on the right and he'd had to look away. By the time he brought his gaze back to the desk, the suit had been gone, leaving only a chill in the air as proof it had been there at all.

Mike had shoved the encounter out of his mind – he hadn't had time to worry about an animatronic that may or may not exist, not when four very real ones were after his blood. Now the very same monstrosity was sitting at his bedside, wearing an amused smile and offering him a glass of water.

Wait, what?

"I apologize for scaring you." Unlike Teddy, this bear's voice was smooth and cultured – something one would expect from a Harvard professor or an accomplished lawyer addressing the court. He was larger than Teddy, though, like the original animatronics at his job were. His suit was made of fabric and seemed rather worn, like it had seen years of dust and mildew that the others had avoided, though it appeared clear of both at the moment. He was also sort of... _slumped_ , like a rag doll. His eyes were the same as the puppets – black voids with white pupils. Unlike Marion, however, his held warmth and sincerity in the depths, instead of calculating aloofness and superiority.

Mike finally managed to pull in a deep breath, lungs expanding against his ribs before he let it out in a whoosh. The bear apparently took this as a good sign and scooted closer, pushing the plastic kiddy cup into his hands. "Here, you've been coughing a lot the last hour. I'm certain your throat is sore." His tone was warm and friendly, reminding Mikey of Teddy's demeanor. His fingers closed around the cup, which was sweating from the ice, and took a sip. Yelling earlier had brought back the knife-blade feeling in the back of his throat, and the cool water and ice chips immediately soothed the worst of the pain. The bear sat back, content to silently observe the boy as he drank.

After a few more sips, Mikey felt well enough to stretch his vocal cords. "Uh," the bear's gaze focused on him, and he took another sip of water. "Er, not to be rude, but, uh, who are you?" His voice came out strained and scratchy, painfully so.

The bear didn't seem offended in the least. He swept off the plum-colored top hat he wore (it matched the bow tie around his neck) and bowed his head to the boy. "Ah, apologies, Michael. My name is – _was –_ Fredbear, but I'm now known as Golden Freddy. My friends, however," he gestured to the posters of the animatronics on the wall, as well as the gathering of plushes that had been split between the desk and Mike's bed, "call me Goldie."

Goldie. _Goldie_. Why did that sound familiar? Mikey looked down at the cup, thinking, and spotted his pajama sleeves falling over his fingers. Wait. Pajamas. Clothes. The note.

"Are you the one who gave me these clothes?" He held up his arm, the sleeve hiding his fingers from view.

"Yes, though it seems I did not guess your correct size." The bear reached forward and, before Mikey could jerk back, tugged on the edge of the sleeve. The fabric immediately seemed to shrivel, fitting itself to the boys skinny arm, the elastic cuffs sitting snugly around his wrists. The rest of the shirt followed suit – it fit itself around him as though it had been tailor made.

"Oh, wow!" Mikey pulled at the sleeve, impressed by the show of magic. "How did you do that?"

Goldie patted the bed, specifically the warm spot Mikey had just vacated. "Come back to bed and I'll tell you," he offered. "If Chicky were to come in and see you out from beneath the covers, she would throw a fit. You know how she worries."

Mikey, remembering the day he'd been changed and how Chicky had been pushing tissues on him every five minutes, knew very well how overly-motherly the chick could be. He handed the glass of water back to the large bear and scooted back to his pillows. Goldie shifted them behind him, so he could sit comfortably as they spoke, then drew the blankets up over his lap.

"So, how did you fix it?" Mike asked, holding up his arm to show the fitted sleeve.

"Magic," Goldie answered simply, sitting back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other.

Mikey waited with baited breath for more of an explanation, but none was forthcoming. The bear was smiling, watching him with a raised brow. "Um..any more details?"

"Mm, not really," the bear shrugged. "Magic is magic. There's some complexities, but fitting a shirt is no big show. Now, stuffing Pirates Cove with shaving-cream filled balloons and a porcupine in heat, _that_ took some complicated spell work!"

Mike's jaw dropped as he stared at the fiercely grinning bear, who's eyes had shifted from kind to amused and mischievous. "Y-y-you _what_?!" He gasped, expression stunned.

"You'll have to ask Foxy about it one day," Goldie eyed his non-existent nails, completely nonchalant. "He's still cleaning that stuff from his joints."

The bear was gratified to see the teen-turned-boy defend into a fit of giggles, having to bend over and catch his breath by the end. He offered the cup of water again, and Mikey took it, draining the chilly water and chewing on one of the remaining ice chips.

"What I meant to ask was, how do you have magic?" Mikey felt oddly at ease with the bear. He didn't know if it was the way the animatronic seemed to radiate kindness and understanding, or the fact that he'd supposedly pulled off a brilliant prank on the most dangerous of the Fazgang, but something was drawing Mikey in. He didn't trust the bear (it was far better to trust no one beyond yourself, he'd learned long ago), but he was certainly beginning to like him.

"Ah, that." The bear shifted his legs with a heavy sigh. "Before I can explain, I must ask you something, and I need an honest response. Michael," he looked at the boy with serious eyes, "do you believe in ghosts?"

"No." The answer was flat, and Goldy didn't press when he saw Mike's expression. The boy's face had gone flat, all traces of excitement and wonder lost. The bear didn't need to ask about the change – this boy had lost his mother and brother, according to Teddy and Blue. Obviously, neither had come to him after their deaths, or he'd be singing a different tune.

The bear hummed to himself. "Mm, perhaps that was the wrong way to ask. Allow me to put it this way: do you believe living things have spirits?"

"Yes," Mike once more answered immediately.

"Ah, there we go." Goldy smiled and settled back to begin the explanation. "Now, when a spirit leaves it's vessel – that is, when they die – they don't _always_ go straight on to the next world."

"The next world?" Mikey interrupted, his face having lost it's stony expression in favor of appearing cautiously curious.

"Yes. The afterlife – heaven, hell, Helheim, Hades, limbo, purgatory, and so forth. Sometimes, a spirit clings to life because they do not want to leave a loved one. Other times they are confused, scared, or lost. In some cases, they are angry."

"Teddy spoke to you about the missing children incident, yes?" Mike nodded, eyes riveted to the animatronic. "What did they tell you about the murderer? The Purple Man?"

"They said that he wore a purple shirt," the boy muttered, trying to remember what, exactly, he had been told a few nights ago. "He used an extra suit and lured some kids to the back room, and he killed them there."

Goldie's head bobbed along to the explanation. "Yes, exactly, but this isn't the event I wish to speak of. A decade earlier, there was another 'missing children' incident, one that didn't reach the news the way the second one did. The killer – the same 'Purple Man' as later on – used my suit to lure and kill three children to their deaths." The boy gasped appropriately, and the bear smiled and continued. "I was originally a special 'spring-lock' model of animatronic. Parts of my endoskeleton could be shifted into place using a crank, which allowed a human adult to stand inside me and move me like a suit. The Purple Man used the crank so he could wear my suit, and broke parts of my endoskeleton in the process. He turned off my system, then killed the children."

Mikey reached out and rested a hand on the worn yellow fur, feeling deep sympathy for the old animatronic. Golden gave him an appreciative smile and patted his hand before continuing.

"Now, before this happened, myself and the others had already gained our sentience." He tapped the side of his skull, ears flicking. "Our advanced AI had given us a jump start on achieving what you humans call 'self-awareness.' When Purple Man broke my endoskeleton, parts of it ended up fused with the suit itself, including my processor and AI. When I awoke, I found myself surrounded by three very frightened children. I didn't realize they were gh – _spirits_ at first. When I asked what happened, the oldest explained that they had been lured into the backroom by a purple monster and killed. I did what I could to comfort them all, but I didn't know what to do or say. I could no longer move and barely speak.

"The youngest one hugged me – _hugged me_ , even though I had her blood on my suit!" Goldie looked away for a moment, reigning in his composure. Mikey stayed still and silent, keeping his hand on the bear's arm and thinking over everything the bear had told him so far. The bear took a shaky breath and continued. "She said she was sorry I was hurt, and she wished she could help me. The others agreed with her. They wanted to help me, even though the killer had used me to destroy them!

"Something happened, then. I don't know what. They saw... _something_ beyond me, beyond the restaurant. I suppose they moved on, since they disappeared into bright bursts of light after that. Once they were gone, I could move and speak again. My body," he ran a paw down his chest, which Mike noticed had several stitches and several worn patches, "isn't whole – it's impossible to repair, I'm simply too broken to be rebuilt. The children left me something when they disappeared." He shrugged. "I call it magic, Marion calls is 'supernatural powers', Shab and Shaf call it a normal day. We don't know exactly what happened, but all of us gained our powers from a death, either of another or our own."

"Who are Shab and Shaf?" Mike asked, latching onto the new names – it seemed the easiest to address right now. The rest was simply too fantastic to process at the moment.

"Shadow Bonnie and Shadow Freddy. They tend to haunt the two restaurants, plus the old Fredbear Diner a few towns over," Goldie waved his hand off in a random direction. "They're not overly fond of humans, you're not likely meet them any time soon."

Mikey nodded, pulling his arm back and hiding his cold fingers beneath the blankets. "So...you're magic, and you don't know how, exactly, other than it happened after a few kids died."

"That's the long and short of it." Gold nodded.

"So, can you like, do anything you want?"

"No," Goldie laughed. "I'm not a magical genie. I'm a dab hand at conjuring things," he twisted his hand and flicked his wrist, and a thick bread roll dripping with honey appeared in his paw. He handed it to the stunned boy, who didn't hesitate to take a big bite. He 'hmmmed' as the flavors hit his tongue, and his stomach rumbled in approval. The honey felt good along his throat as well. "And I can teleport, of course, and know a lot of spells for cleaning and repairing buildings. It's how I keep my pizzeria from falling to pieces. There's lots of different branches of magic. For example, Marion excels at potion making, as well as creating protective charms and simple enchantments. Shab and Shaf are skilled at more subtle spells – ones that let them move without being seen, and eavesdrop on others in order to gain information."

"How did Marion get his powers?" Mikey asked, though his voice had grown tight.

Goldie sighed – he should have seen that coming. "A young boy was killed outside of the first diner. His spirit became frightened and confused, and he latched onto Marion for protection. Whatever powers he gained from his death were transferred over to Marion, and Marion uses them to protect all of us." He motioned one hand in a large circle, encompassing both pizzerias and all the animatronics.

"Michael." The hair on the back of the boy's neck went ramrod straight, and he glanced at the animatronic warily. Any adult addressing him with that much gravity no doubt had something bad to tell him. "I know Marion has seriously, _disastrously_ messed up with all... _this._ " He motioned to Mikey. "But he was only trying to do what he thought was best for you."

Mikey stared at the bear, shock evident all over his features.

"I'm not saying you should forgive him," the bear quickly backpedaled. "In fact, if you want to land a few good punches I'll hold him down for you. I just want you to know that he honestly thought he was doing what was best for both his family _and_ you."

"What was _best_ for me?" The boy demanded, but Goldie soothed him before he could get worked up into a lather and make himself sicker.

"Marion is an idiot." This immediately brought Mike's indignant rant to a halt. "He doesn't think things through – he only ever looks at one side of a situation, the side _he_ likes. He doesn't think of the possible ramifications or negative impact on others." Goldie heaved a sigh, slumping a bit in his seat. "But he's my best friend, and I would be remiss if I didn't at least _try_ and explain his behavior."

Mike slowly sat back against his pillows, face growing smooth. "I...I guess I can understand that." He took his cup from the crate night-stand and sipped on it.

Goldie hummed again and they sat in silence for a minute, the only sound Mikey crunching on the ice chips left in the bottom of the glass. "Oh!" The bear immediately brightened and yanked off his top hat. He shook it out, then held it so the boy could see inside. "Nothing inside, right?" He asked, raising one brow, his posture changing to one of a practiced, self-assured performer.

"Nooo," Mike said slowly, drawing the word out at he looked at the silk-lined hat, which was empty.

"Right!" Goldie plunged his hand into the hat, and Mike was sure it would split open as his fist split the worn cloth. Instead, he fit his arm into it, all the way up to his shoulder. The boy, despite just hearing about how the bear was magic, and seeing him conjure that roll without a though, still dropped his jaw at the trick.

"Wait...wait...it's in here somewhere." Goldie looked up at the ceiling, focusing on what his fingers were brushing against as he tried to grab the right bottle. "Oh, here!" He yanked his arm free and his hand emerged, clutching a small bottle filled with a sloshing green liquid.

Upon seeing it, Mike blanched and leaned away from the bear. "Oh no, no, no, no! I'm not taking another potion! Not after what the last one did to me."

"Relax," Goldie sat back down, replacing his hat on his head. "This isn't a potion – I can't cook worth a darn. This is medicine from a small shop in Dublin."

"Ireland?" Mikey asked in surprise. "How did you get it?"

"Teddy called and told me you were sick. I teleported over to a fae market place in Dublin and got this for you." He handed over the potion vial.

It was small and round, with a long neck. The dark-green liquid sloshed against the crystal – it had to be crystal, glass didn't sparkle like this – and a paper tag fluttered from a piece of twine tied around the neck. He grabbed it between his fingers and squinted at the curly handwriting.

 _For the relief of colds, flues, congestion, coughs, and respiratory illnesses_

 _One vial is equal to one dose; one dose only in twenty-four hours_

 _Causes severe drowsiness; take only before bedtime_

"Severe drowsiness?" Mike asked, rubbing the tag between his fingers.

"You'll sleep for at least a day," Goldie explained. "Twenty hours at least. Long enough to completely rest up and recover." He took the vial and pulled the wax-sealed cork free. "It's all natural ingredients."

Mike hesitated, even as he took the vial and tentatively sniffed it. "You promise this isn't going to turn me into a baby or something?"

Goldie chuckled. "No, of course not. This is just a cold remedy, I promise."

The boy still hesitated for a moment, but the soreness of his throat, the heat beneath his collar, and the pain beginning to throb behind his eyes made up his mind for him. He downed the potion, expecting it to taste like sludge and dead newts. Surprisingly it was minty, with a hint of something more savory beneath. Once it was all gone, he handed the vial back to Goldie, who set it on the crate beside him.

"Let's get you lying down," the animatronic suggested, moving the pillows back and holding the blankets up so Mike could arrange himself comfortably beneath them. Just as the child got himself comfortable on his side, a wave of exhaustion swept over him like a tidal wave. His eyes fell shut, even as he fought to keep them open. Someone entered as his consciousness began to wane.

 _"'ow 's he?"_

 _"Good. I just gave him the medicine. He'll sleep until midnight tomorrow at least."_

 _"Perfect. We'll 'ave the rest o' it set up by then."_

 _"Would you mind if I crashed the party? Michael and I just had a rather interesting conversation. I'd love to get to know him more."_

 _"O' course! You're always welcome, Goldie. Hey, how's that mission I gave you working out?"_

 _"Almost done. I'm off to pick it up as soon as I leave here."_

 _"And Marion?"_

 _"None the wiser. Now, tell me, what games are we playing tomorrow night? After all, a child doesn't turn fifteen every day..."_

* * *

 **AN: Longest chapter yet! Yay! So this one got away from me a bit - I ended up expanding on Goldie's story a lot more than I thought I would. I lke details when I read - the whole how, what, why, when, etc. and I guess that popped up as I was writing tonight. I hope y'all liked it, and are excited for the next chapter!**

 **Thank you THANK YOU THANK YOU for all the reviews. I kept ducking between shelves during work on Friday so I could see what y'all had to say. I was in a fantastic mood all through my shift. Tons of love to all you guys - it was so nice!**

 **Please REVIEW! They'll be raised well and given lots and lots of love! Cheers!**


	15. Party Like it's 1993

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 15: Party Like It's 1993**

Mike woke up to a silent restaurant. He squinted at the glowing stars hanging from the ceiling, wondering at the sudden solitude. In those moments between dreams and full awareness, he'd thought Chicky would be there, fussing over him and checking his temperature every other minute. There was no sign of her or any of the others, not even that odd Goldie bear. He dragged a fist over his eyes, which felt heavy and sore. He wasn't hot anymore, at least. His throat was no longer sore, and his chest wasn't aching whenever he took a deep breath. The medicine Goldie had gotten had done it's job, leaving him feeling as well as ever.

He rolled out of the bed, groaning a bit as he left his warm cocoon. The light slipping through the curtain was just enough to see the room. He shuffled to the desk and, after climbing onto the chair so he could reach the stacks of clothes, picked out an outfit for the night. He found a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved white shirt with a picture of Teddy printed on the front. His last pair of socks had been ditched by the front doors after being soaked in the snow, so he dug out another set and pulled them over his cold toes. Now that he'd been properly outfitted, he ventured out of his room, intent on finding out where the others had gone.

The lights in the hallway were on, but the ones in the stage room were dark, and nobody was to be seen. Mike paused at the threshold and peered into the cavernous room, trying to pick out any familiar silhouettes. There wasn't any moonlight from the windows – either they had been covered by curtains, or it was a new moon tonight. Hesitantly, the child squinted and took a step into the room.

"SURPRISE!"

The overhead lights flared on, the florescence buzzing cheerfully. Mike stumbled backwards at the sudden shout, blinking frantically as he tried to adjust his eyes. When he managed to get his balance and his vision back, he stared at the sight before him.

All the animatronics – Teddy, Blue, Chicky, Mangle, Goldie, and Balloon Boy – were standing by one of the tables. Each had a paper cone hat on their head, even the bears – their top hats were sitting on the table beside a three-tiered cake and a piping-hot pan of pizza. All six were standing with their arms thrown in the air, beaming at the child.

"Happy birthday, Mikey!" They chorused happily. Chicky bounced forward and grabbed his hand, pulling the stammering boy over to the table.

"We've got cake and pizza and presents and Pin-the-Tail-On-Vixen and Musical Chairs and candy and anything you want, Mikey!" She hugged the boy to her side as they joined the others, her tulle wings draping over his shoulder comfortingly.

BB pushed a string attached to a big, blue balloon with the words 'Birthday Boy' printed in white on the side into his hands. "Here, Mikey! Happy birthday!" The childish animatronic chirped happily.

"Happy birthday, Michael."

Marion appeared in front of him, a smile on his mask. Mike froze against Chicky, his stomach dropping to his feet. The balloon slipped from between his fingers, and he grabbed onto the chicken and buried his head in her hip.

Chicky patted his head, looking concerned. "Mikey?"

"Don' wan' him here," the boy muttered childishly into her fuzzy suit, refusing to look at the puppet.

Goldie, looking a bit sad but understanding, patted Marion on the shoulder. "Perhaps it would be best if you joined us later?" He suggested to his friend, who looked shocked at being told to leave.

"What?" The puppet squawked. "But-"

"Marion," Goldie whispered, "You're scaring him."

Apparently, he wasn't quiet enough. "No you're not!" Mike glared at the puppet and bear from the safety of Chicky's side. "I don't want him here. This is all his fault!"

" _My fault_?" Marion quoted, his mask dipping in a frown. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't even be here!"

"Only 'cause you kidnapped me!"

"I _saved_ your life!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"If it weren't for me, you'd be in the streets, frozen to death!" Marion stood to his full height and crossed his arms, scowling down at the child. "You should be _thanking_ me!"

Mike's fifteen-year-old brain flared among the childish tendencies in his brain. "You _bastard_ , I sho-"

A feathered hand clapped over his mouth, effectively gagging him. "That's enough, Mikey! We don't use those bad words here." Chicky scolded gently, keeping him pressed against her side.

"Marion," Goldie grabbed the puppets arms and pulled him away from the group. Mike watched them leave with stony eyes, absently noting that Goldie was _floating_ , not walking. Once they were near the puppets box, Goldie released his arm. "Listen, give Mikey some time to relax and have some fun. He's not exactly fond of you right now."

"He shou-"

"Shoulda woulda coulda," Goldie snapped, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Look, Marion, leave him be for now. I'm sure after he sees his gifts, his temper will soften."

Marion scowled but sat on top of his present box, crossing his arms and folding one leg over the other. "Fine." He grumbled, obviously not happy about it. The bear smiled at him, before moving to rejoin the group by the table.

"I believe," Teddy announced once Goldie had rejoined them, "that presents should be first!"

"Presents?" Mikey was completely smitten with the word. "You got me _presents_?"

"Well of course, birthday boy!" Blue chuckled, ruffling his hair and pointing to three small wrapped packages beside the cake. "Why are you so surprised?"

Mike didn't answer – his gaze was completely taken up by the three little gifts. He hadn't gotten any presents since his fifth birthday party – the last one before his mom died.

Teddy chuckled at the boys stunned silence and motioned for him to sit by the table. "Have a seat, Mikey, and you can open them before we play games." The boy automatically shuffled forward and sat in the seat Blue pulled out for him.

"Mine first!" Mangle, hanging from the ceiling, grabbed one of the packages from the table and handed it to him, her mismatched eyes sparkling. "Here you are, dear."

Mike held the carefully-wrapped, slightly squishy package in his hands, gazing at it reverently. As the others watched, he began to untie the curly ribbon, doing his best not to rip the paper. As soon as the rainbow-colored ribbon was off, he slid his fingers along the seam, and pulled the paper off in one whole piece.

A plush doll, similar to the ones he had on his bed and desk, fell into his lap. It was made of soft fabric and had dark brown buttons fastened above a stitched-on smile. A tuft of black fluff had been sewn on the head as hair. It was dressed in a green t-shirt and khaki pants. Mike ran a hand through the dolls hair, and a large smile crawled across his face.

"Now you have a Mikey doll to play with the others," Mangle chirped, delighted at seeing the child smile. He hugged it tightly and tilted his head back, beaming up at her.

"Thank you, Mangle! I love it!"

Both Mangle and Chicky 'awed' and the former hugged him. As soon as she'd gotten her cuddle in, Blue grabbed the next gift from the table.

"My turn!" He pressed the rectangle package into the boys hands. "Don't worry about the paper, just rip it open!"

Mike obliged and tore off the paper, dropping it on the table before examining the gift. It was a picture frame, obviously one of the ones sold or won at the prize corner. The main frame was silver, and there were caricatures of the animatronics painted in the lower right-hand corner, their shapes slightly poking over the window the picture was shown through. There was already a picture in the frame – it showed all the animatronics standing together, including Goldie and Marion, mugging for the camera. One of them had written on the frame in permanent marker, 'Welcome to the Fazbear Family.'

Just like the doll, Mike hugged this gift to his chest and beamed up at them all. To their surprise (and worry), tears were gathering in his eyes.

"Mikey, lad, what's wrong?" Teddy knelt down in front of him, placing a heavy paw on his knee.

"Nothing's wrong!" Mike dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm happy." He put the picture on the table before throwing his arms around Teddy. The bear was a bit startled, but quickly hugged him back. When the boy didn't retract his arms after a moment, he stood, keeping Mike in his arms.

"C'mon, boy, you've still got a gift left," he bounced the child a bit.

"I don't need anything else," Mike stated as Teddy shifted to hold him on one hip, though the boys eyes betrayed him as they strayed to the third present.

"Goldie worked really hard to get this for you," Teddy countered, nodding to the golden bear, who picked up the third gift and held it out in front of him.

"You did?" Mike's voice echoed with childlike curiosity. Goldie and Teddy shared a worried look that went unnoticed by the others – the spell was affecting Mikey more quickly than they thought.

"Yes," Goldie smiled and, seeing that the boy was firmly attached to his fellow bears side, undid the ribbon and pulled off the paper himself. A vial full of gold liquid was revealed.

Mike looked less than thrilled at being presented with another potion. "Wha's that?"

"This," the elderly bear smirked, "is the antidote."

The boys face remained confused. "But I'm not poisoned."

Teddy chuckled, the rumbling in his chest tickling Mikey. "It's the counter to the age potion, Mikey. This'll make you your true age again."

The other animatronics – Chicky, Blue and Mangle, who hadn't been involved in the bear's scheming – gasped and stared at the little bottle with surprise.

Mike's gaze was locked on it, his jaw dropped. "But – there's still two days until it's ready! Marion said it took a week!"

"This isn't Marion's potion. Well, not exactly." Goldie glanced at the puppet, who had silently moved closer to watch as the gifts were unwrapped. He was scowling.

"What, you don't trust my work?" He snapped at the golden bear, obviously insulted.

"I trust your work just fine," the bear soothed his friend, "I just don't trust your self control."

"What? Why y-"

Blue pushed the marionette aside, taking his place. "How'd you make it so fast, Goldie?" He asked, stymieing the argument before it could begin. When Goldie and Marion fought, they tended to rely on their supernatural powers, and more often than not the band had been left to clean up a disaster in their wake.

"I didn't make it," Goldie pressed the vial into Mikey's hand. The boy held it carefully, watching as the gold liquid swirled against the crystal. "I bought it. Of course, I had to _borrow_ a few things from Marion to make the payment..."

"You _WHAT_?!" The puppet shrieked, making the others jump. Before Goldie could answer, the puppet had flown back to his box and disappeared to catalog his belongings. Everyone turned expectantly to watch the child, who had eyes only for the antidote.

"...I don't want it."

When nobody answered, Mikey glanced up at their shocked expressions, a little smile tugging his mouth.

"At least, not right now."

Blue recovered first. "Why not?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to set off another flashback.

"I never had a sixth birthday party," Mike shrugged, "And you guys went through all this hard work to make a party for me," he looked at the balloons gathered at the ceiling, and the cake on the table. "I can wait until after the party to take it."

"Awww, Mikey!" Chicky stole the boy from Teddy's arms and hugged him close, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You're so _sweet_!"

"He's not that sweet," Marion muttered, standing in his box and leaning against the prize counter. He was glaring at them all, obviously stung at losing whatever artifacts Goldie had 'borrowed' to pay for the potion. The others ignored him (except for Blue, who's super-hearing had detected the insulted bitterness in the puppets voice and had sent him a hard glare), so the puppet huffed and turned to his music box, winding it and ignoring them for the rest of the party.

* * *

The party was the most fun Mike could remember having in a long, long time. Once the gifts had been carefully placed beside the food, Teddy had taken charge and announced it to be game time. They played Musical Chairs, with Blue providing a cheerful tune from his guitar while the others tried to get seats whenever he stopped. Mangle, who was faster than the rest, won all three rounds they played. Another game of Hide-and-Seek followed, sans flashbacks, which quickly devolved into a game of tag between Blue and a cackling Teddy. Once the rabbit got his revenge for being scared (again), Balloon Boy showed them how to make different balloon animals. None of them were very good – their poodles looked like snakes, and their giraffes were more like worms. Blue led a game of Red Light, Green Light, which Mikey was able to win.

The last game before the cake was cut was Pin-the-Tail-on-Vixen. A plastic sheet with a picture of a pre-destroyed Mangle was hung against one of the arcade machines, and each of them was given a tail in a different color. They took turns tying on a blindfold and being spun around by each other, before being released and trying to stick the tape-backed tail on the plastic sheet.

When it was Mikey's turn, he happily accepted the blindfold and held his bright green tail tight in his small hands. Goldie spun him around, and once he was suitably dizzy, he set off. The others shouted encouragement, telling him to go more to the left or the right. He ignored them in favor of not falling over – the bear had been a bit too enthusiastic with his spinning.

It wasn't until he ran into the counter that he realized Marion's music box had been getting louder. He yelped as his foot banged against the prize counter. There was a clunk, and something fell off the top and hit him on the head. He dropped his tail and grabbed the thing as it fell in front of him, keeping it from hitting the floor. Balancing it in the crook of one arm, he yanked off his blindfold and looked down at what he'd caught.

It was Marion's music box, lazily cranking out notes to the old tune he'd never heard before. An angry hiss had the boy's head snapping up. The puppet, who had appeared to be dozing most of the time they'd been playing, was glaring down at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You clumsy child, what the hell is wrong with you?" He snarled, straightening up to his full height. "What are you even doing over here? Are you so stupid you can't even walk in a straight line?"

Goldie, who had moved to redirect Mikey right before he'd run into the counter, frowned. "Marion, there's no need to be so mean. It was an accident."

"Mean? I'm not the one who's mean!" The puppet snarled. "He's the unappreciative _brat_ who's taken all the things I've given him and thrown them back in my face!"

"Marion, stop it." Gold's voice had gone flat, and he rested a hand on Mikey's shoulder.

"It's not my fault the clumsy little fool can't walk right." The sour-faced puppet snarled.

Before Goldie could reply, there was a crash from beside him, and the silence-shattering sound of wood splintering. The gaze of both elderly animatronics darted to Mikey, who was glaring up at the puppet from beneath his messy bangs. In front of him lay the music box, which had been dashed against the tile floor and broken into dozens of pieces. Wires and cogs stuck out from the mess, and the delicate filigree pattern had been torn apart.

"Oops," Mike hissed, his eyes no longer those of a child but a desolate teen, "I'm such a clumsy fool."

The other animatronics, who had all moved closer to stop a fight should it erupt, stopped mid-step, frozen by the ice in his words. Marion had grown even paler than before (though none were sure how it was possible), and his eyes were impossibly large in his mask. His gaze was locked on the destroyed music box, and several of them were sure they could hear his heart breaking.

The walls of the building rumbled, snapping Goldie and Teddy out of their stupor. The former moved to grab the boy and whisk him away to safety, but before he could lay a hand on Mikey, he was thrown backwards by an incredible force that reeked of fury. He landed on top of Teddy and both of them crashed to the ground.

The Marionette was at his full height, but seemed to be growing even taller. A thick, black smoke had begun to wrap around his limbs and torso, making him look much larger than before. The white pupils had disappeared, leaving his eyes nothing but black holes. His head whipped to the side, and his furious gaze met Mike's stunned one.

The boy remembered Marion doing this before, when Chicky had yelled at him about being like the purple man. He took a step back as the animatronic glared at him, but before he could run for it a hand was wrapping around his throat and pulling him from the ground.

Marion slammed him onto the counter, keeping one hand around his throat to pin him there. The others surged forward, but were unable to get within five feet of the prize counter – it was like they'd hit an invisible wall whenever they'd try.

"You want to be an adult so bad, fine." Marion hissed, throwing out his other hand. His arm stretched like a rubber band, snapping half-way across the room and snatching up the gold antidote from the party table. He brought it back through whatever wall he'd built, nearly smacking Mangle upside the head as he did so. Goldie tried to grab the potion, but Marion was too fast.

Mike, meanwhile, had grabbed at the claws wrapped around his neck and was trying to pull it away from his throat. The puppet was too strong, and nothing he did lessened the heavy grip. Marion ignored his struggles and popped the cork from the top of the vial with his thumb. Mike snapped his teeth together, pressing his lips into a line, breathing frantically through his nose.

"Don't worry, Mikey," the puppet purred, though there was an angry hiss beneath his words, "I didn't make this – you can _trust_ Goldie, can't you?" He tightened his grip ever-so-slightly, making the boy gasp in pain. As soon as his mouth was open, the potion was poured down his throat. Marion withdrew his hand as the boy groaned and rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach.

Much like five days before, the change happened rapidly. Mike grew back to his fifteen-year-old self in the blink of an eye. The clothes he had been wearing tore at the seams, leaving him lying naked on the prize counter. Before he could be embarrassed, Marion snapped his fingers. A purple button-up shirt and a pair of black trousers appeared on him, along with a golden badge on his chest and a purple cap with a black bill. The animatronics clustered around the barrier recognized it just as quickly as Mike did: it was his guard uniform.

"You don't deserve the second chance I offered you," Marion's eyes roamed to the destroyed music box. "Maybe your father had the right idea about how to _fix_ you." There was an angry shout from both Chicky and Mangle, and Blue slammed his fist against the barrier, buck-teeth barred.

 _Marion, stop! You're losing it!_

The puppet ignored Scott, who had been panicking in the back of his head since the music box had broken. He applied the same principle to the others, tuning them out as they yelled at him. He grabbed Mike by the back of his shirt and hauled him upright. Without a word, the two vanished.

* * *

 **AN: Phew, sorry about the wait! I think all that rapid updating burned out my muse for a bit. Finally got this chapter up, though, and the end is drawing near! I hope y'all enjoyed it!**

 **So, Marion's finally snapped after being treated like a monster by Mikey for most of the week. Where's he gone? Only the next chapter will tell!**

 **Thank you very very much for all the lovely reviews! I appreciate each and every one of them, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know if you did!**

 **Cheers!**


	16. Catacomb

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 16: Catacomb**

Just as he had exactly one week ago, Mike ended up on his hands and knees, throwing up the water he'd drunk during the party hours before. In the back of his mind he was thankful that Chicky had insisted they save cake and pizza for last. The front of his mind, however, was completely focused on the roiling in his gut, and he hung his head, panting, as the tremors running along his spine finally slowed.

"Are you finished?"

Marionette was standing in front of him, stretched to his full height, his masked head nearly brushing the ceiling of the darkened room they'd arrived in. Mike pushed himself back so he was sitting on his knees, stomach muscles protesting the sudden move. He squinted through the darkness at the glowing, irate face of the puppet.

"W-where are w-we?" Mike asked, cursing his jaw for betraying his sudden fear. The tall animatronic looked absolutely murderous.

"Where you should have come last Friday," Marion lazily waved one arm around, gesturing to the pitch-black room, before returning his arm to cross his chest. "You wanted to leave so badly, to be an 'adult' once more, here you are."

Mike swallowed hard, "And, uh, w-where is here, ex-exactly?"

Marion's painted mouth curved into a nasty crescent as he leaned forward, leering down at the trembling boy. "Your grave."

"W-w-w-what?!" Mike fell back on his rear, eyes unwillingly locked with the puppets. The white pupils were dancing with amusement, glinting with malevolence - an odd combination that completely unnerved the fifteen-year-old.

A lazy snap from one of his unnaturally long and skinny hands brought a light to a dim, round bulb bolted in one of the walls. Mike had to close his eyes and rub at them, dazzled by the sudden light, as dull as it was. More lights, similar in size and shape, lit up down what seemed to be a long corridor, flooding the odd room with soft light. By the time Mike dropped his hands, Marion had disappeared, leaving him alone.

He wasn't in a room so much as a wide tunnel. The walls and arched ceiling were made of poured concrete, as was the floor. Behind him was the end of the tunnel – a solid wall of poured concrete, no door or ladder in sight. The round lights were embedded in the walls near where they began to curve, alternating sides, placed every couple yards to illuminate each area as best as possible. It reminded Mike of the sewer tunnels in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cartoons, which he and his brother used to watch all the time. He'd even gone Trick-or-Treating as Michelangelo for three years in a row when he was little.

Slowly, Mike got to his feet, cursing softly as his legs trembled beneath him. He really, _really_ hated that teleporting trick of Marion's. The sewer tunnel, surprisingly, wasn't freezing cold, despite the layers of snow hew as sure rested above his head. It was warm and dry, like a desert heat. He stuck out a hand and pressed it against the smooth wall, using it to help him hobble forward on his wobbly legs.

The sewer tunnel wasn't straight. It went on for a dozen yards, then turned sharply to the left. Mike used the wall to keep himself upright until he began to feel steadier and made his way to the turn. He was certain there was a way out of here – a manhole cover, a door into the tramway, a magic portal into some less-screwed-up world without murderous animatronics; he would take what he could get.

He rounded the corner and promptly stopped as an odd smell hit his nose like a wave at high tide. He coughed and clapped his free hand over the lower half of his face, breathing in the contradicting scents of dirt and soap from his skin as he tried to catch his breath. As soon as he'd laid eyes on what was creating the smell, however, he lost every ounce of oxygen in his lungs once more.

A body – adult in size, he thought, and seemingly male – was lying on the ground in front of him. The body had been mummified by the dry, hot air in the tunnel. Skin that had once been pink and smooth had become a deep tan, wrinkled around the bones and dried muscles. It – if Mike began to think of this as a real person, he was sure he would lose it – was dressed in a purple shirt and jeans, both of which were full of bloody holes and splattered with other... _organic_ substances. It's hands were folded across it's chest, much like the mummy's portrayed in cartoons, and it's head was tilted back. If it weren't for the fact that it was so obviously _dead_ , Mike would think it was somebody sleeping.

Attached to the wall above the body was a golden badge about the size of his hand in the shape of a shield. It had the Fazbear Pizzeria logo on the top – the name of the restaurant inscribed in bubble letters beneath a cartoonish representation of Freddy Fazbear himself. Beneath that was a blank rectangle surrounded by balloons and party streamers, on which was scrawled the name 'Frtiz Smith' in black marker. Slowly, Mike looked down at his own chest, where an identical badge was pinned to his shirt.

Swallowing hard, the fifteen-year-old took a deep breath and looked beyond the body of Smith, down the tunnel proper. It was almost a quarter of a mile long, from what he could see, and there were bodies laid along the sides just like Smith – hands crossed over their chest, legs together, head tilted back like the Pharaohs of old. Each wore a purple shirt and either jeans or slacks, and a gold badge was affixed above the head of each.

Mike knew there had been murders here – he'd seen the blood on the hands of the animatronics, even if the rest of the staff brushed it off as being pizza sauce. Hell, his third night Freddy had waltzed into the guard station after the power went out and nearly strangled him to death! He'd even asked Mr. Fazbear, his boss and the owner of the restaurant about it, but the man had brushed it off as rumors and Mike not getting enough sleep. Without any proof, Mike had been forced to let the matter lie and simply try to survive his five contracted nights.

Well, here was all the proof anybody would ever need – a mass grave, a catacomb, of all the missing security guards. There were at least a decades worth of employees – from both the old restaurant and the new, if the varying badge designs were anything to go by. If he could find a way out of here, Mike would waste no time contacting the authorities and leading them here in order to get the hellish place shut down for good.

At the far end of the tunnel, Mike could just make out what looked like a door. It was steel, and reminded him of a submarine hatch from the movies. It was shaped like a slightly-squashed oval, and had a wheel sticking out of the middle that you had to turn in order to open. To all appearances, it was the only way out. Mike took a deep breath and steeled himself, then began to walk slowly past all the bodies. He glanced at the badges as he passed, absently taking in the names and filing them away.

Fritz Smith.

Alex Redding.

Skylar Winchester.

Mark I. Plier (and, scribbled beneath it in hastily-added-on marker, Tiny Box Tim).

Sean W. McLoughlin.

Lizzy Parker.

I. H. Cupquake.

Aaron Ash.

By the time he reached the door, he'd passed several dozen bodies. Some of them didn't have badges, or the badges were warped, twisted, or had large holes punched through the center, rendering them illegible. The names he did gather he tucked away, promising that he would get to the police and give them a proper burial.

Taking a deep breath, Mike grabbed the round door wheel and twisted it hard to the left. The metal refused to shift beneath his hands, and after several minutes of grunting and swearing, he came to a terrifying revelation. The door was _locked_. He was _trapped._

In his _grave_.

* * *

"I can't find them!"

Golden Freddy 'poof'd' back into the stage room of the shuttered restaurant, nearly overbalancing as he hip-checked a table in his haste to reach the stage. Teddy was the only one there – the others were scouring every inch of the restaurant, including the closed-off basement and the little-known attic space. He moved forward and caught his brother as he stumbled, keeping him upright. Technically, being animatronics, they weren't related, but all three of the bears saw each other as family and had readily adopted the moniker.

"You checked all the restaurants?" Teddy asked, keeping a hand on Gold's elbow to steady him and keep him relatively calm.

"Yes, yes, of course! The open one _and_ the other closed ones. I even went to Fredbear's Diner!" He coughed, expelling dust from his voice box. "There's no sign of them."

Teddy sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "And he's not in his box?"

"No!" The two bears glanced across the room to see Mangle climbing from said box, shaking some cobwebs from her head. "He needs to clean his ceilings," she muttered to herself, scaling the wall and crossing the room to join them by the stage.

Blue and Chicky were right behind her, BB toddling behind them. "He's not in the attic or the basement," the bunny reported, pacing anxiously. "Where could they have gone?"

A voice from the opened present box – young, childish, with a harder undertone that spoke of long years lived – cut through their conversation, and they all turned to watch as a small figure poked his head over the edge.

"I know where they are."

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for the wait and the short chapter! I'm so bloody exhausted - I'm working two jobs plus school, so life has been keeping me pretty busy. I've been excited for this part though, and things will start to move a little faster. Don't worry, Marion will get what's coming to him, I promise!**

 **Thank you for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. Knowing that people enjoy this story makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside - that's why I write, to make other people smile!**

 **Please review what you think! I know it's not the longest or best chapter, but feedback is always welcome. Cheers!**


	17. Interim

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 17: Interim**

Marion was angry, so he poofed.

He poofed to the old restaurants and yelled at some spiders and a brave, ugly rat.

He poofed to the current restaurant and yelled at the impressive collection of spatulas in the kitchen.

He poofed to his box and yelled at his noticeably-lighter collection of antique, magical artifacts.

He poofed back to the current restaurant and yelled at the wall in one of the bathrooms.

By this point he was exhausted and slumped down to sit on the toilet, panting as his magic shuddered and shrunk, spent for the night. His rage had not subsided, however – as soon as it began to ebb, he saw in mind's eye the shattered remains of his music box, and a new wave of fury consumed him. So he sat on the toilet and simmered, angry with everyone and everything.

Outside of the bathroom, CAM 7 came to life and made an annoying mechanical whir as it twisted to look around the hall. Marion froze, hands cradling his mask in his despondent pose, and thought rapidly – the current night guard (or, as it appeared, the _former_ night guard) was trapped in what he had affectionately nicknamed the Catacomb. The animatronics never messed with the cameras; they were already connected to each other and were able to quickly figure out what was going on throughout their home without the aid of the tablet. That meant there was only one being that could be using the tablet: the new night guard.

A smile bordering on sadistic curled Marion's lips. He would never purposely _harm_ a human, but scaring the ever-loving snot out of one would be a great way to work through his rage. Add to that the tendency Mr. Fazbear had of hiring released prisoners to work (he could pay them below minimum wage and they couldn't complain, since he was one of the few who gave them a job), and there was a guilt factor of zero.

Spirits lifted, Marion stood and gathered what was left of his magic for one last poof, straight into the guard's office.

* * *

A stunned silence descended upon the gathered Toy animatronics as the boy – no older than seven or eight – pulled himself out of the box and floated across the room to them. They were familiar enough with the oddities of the Fazbear corporation that they could spot a ghost a mile away, and this translucent, bobbing child fit all the qualifications. He smiled at them as he came to a stop a few feet away, floating so that he was at eye-level with them.

"Hello, Scott." Golden Freddy broke the haunted quiet, nodding to the boy with a smile stretched thinly across his muzzle.

"Hi, Goldie Bear!" The child immediately shot over to the elder bear, throwing his small arms around the thick neck and giving him a tight hug. Gold returned it, squeezing him gently before releasing him. Ignoring the Toy animatronics, who were somewhat flabbergasted at seeing the ghost of a child emerge from Marion's box, he tried to direct their focus back to where it needed to be.

"Scott, did you just say that you know where Mike and Marion are?"

"Yep!" The boy stayed floating in front of Gold, ignoring the gaping peanut gallery. "Don't worry, they're safe. Well, sort of. Mike is scared, but he's not hurt!"

"I'd be worried if he _wasn't_ scared," Gold muttered. "So where is he?"

"The Catacomb."

" _WHAT?!_ "

* * *

Marion poofed right into the office, lurking in the shadows along the back wall. It was just as small and cramped as the last time he'd visited, while kidnapping Mike. A man with dark hair was sitting in the swivel chair, his head bent over the tablet as he flicked through the cameras. Wondering at the man's apparent lack of fear – surely he'd seen the animatronics moving to shove him into a suit by now? It was nearly three in the morning! – Marion began to creep forward, intent on pouncing when the opportunity presented itself.

"Hello, Marion."

The puppet froze mid-creep as the chair spun, the dim light bulb in the overhead lamp chasing the shadows from his face. The guard smiled, his brows arched in amusement at the puppets flabbergasted expression, and used his thumb to push the bill of his cap back, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes sparkling in a handsome, thin face. Above his right eye was a long, thick scar that looked almost like a dotted line in the way it had been formed, running parallel to his eyebrow for several inches.

"Jeremy?" Marion straightened to his full height and stared down at the man, stunned. "What are – how did – how did you know it was _me_?"

"You always leave a smell when you teleport around," Jeremy laughed, "Sort of like a cross between sulfur and pizza sauce."

"I… _what_?"

The guard burst out into laughter again, cheerful at the interruption. The four animatronics were off doing their own thing tonight, leaving him to flip through the camera feeds as he tried not to keel over from pure boredom. Annoying his old friend and co-worker was a breath of fresh, if not surprising, fresh air.

"What are you even doing here?" Marion finally demanded, crossing his arms over his thin chest. "I thought you were the head day guard?"

"No, I'm the head EVERYTHING guard; that covers day _and_ night." Jeremy leaned back in the seat so he could better see the tall puppets face. "Our current night guard went missing in the snow storm, and we haven't been able to get ahold of him, so I'm covering 'til we either find him or get a new employee."

"Oh."

"That was a rather guilty-sounding 'oh'. Care to share?"

Marion frowned, molded brows dipping over his eyes. Jeremy had always been rather good at reading them. "It is nothing, Fitzgerald."

"Ah, the last-name game. You must have really screwed up." The boy – well, he was a man now, really, with a five o'clock shadow forming along his jawline – tilted his head to the side. "What are you even doing here, Marion? I thought you and the other Toys were scrapped?" There was a hopeful light growing deep in those baby blues. "If you're still active, then the others – are they…?"

"Yes, everyone is fine," Marion reassured him. "I was able to save us from the incinerator and set up the old building for us to live in."

Jeremy slumped back against his chair in relief, scratching at his stubbly chin. "Oh thank God, I was devastated when Fazbear told me he'd scrapped you all."

"I'm certain they would enjoy a visit from you," Marion offered after a moment's hesitation. He knew, deep, deep, _deep_ down that he'd just screwed himself over with his temper tantrum, and locking Mikey in the Catacomb. He wasn't going to _leave_ the boy there, just let him cool off for a bit while Marion got his own temper under control. Reuniting them with Jeremy could reward major brownie points, and save him a few yelled lectures and glares.

Of course, the others didn't know where Mikey was, so maybe he could play it down and it wouldn't be as disastrous…

"MARION!"

There was a new 'poof' accompanied by the smell of metal and thick, fluffy pizza crust. Large golden paws wrapped themselves around Marion's throat, and before the puppet could speak or move, he was having the life shaken out of him.

In his chair, Jeremy watched Golden strangle his old friend Marion, absently thinking about how he'd missed hanging out with the animatronics.

* * *

It had been nearly an hour, and Mike was beginning to lose it. He leaned against the metal door, pressing his forehead to the unusually cool steel. He'd turned, tugged, pulled, and done every other action he could think of in a vain attempt to open the door, but nothing had happened. The bodies behind him watched with hollow eye sockets and he collapsed, sitting on his knees and resting against the steel, his breath quickening as the truth once more hit him over the head. He was trapped in a tomb.

"You're Michael, right?"

The boy, on the verge of breaking into tears, froze, his eyes snapping wide open. His nails dug into the metal of the door as he turned, pressing his back against the wall.

There, standing – well, _floating_ – in front of him, was the ghostly form of Fritz Smith, and behind him stood at least a dozen other spirits, all their eyes – _black with white pupils_ – locked on his own.

Mike barely managed to suck in a deep breath of the hot, dry tunnel air, before he began to scream.

* * *

 **AN: A short chapter detailing what's happening in all the places at all the times! This was super fun - I wrote it while subbing for a High School art class, and one of the students walked past, saw a drawing I did, and we ended up talking about FNaF's and other fandoms for a while! I love it when a good story/world/AU brings people together.**

 **We broke 300 reviews! I have no idea why, but we did! I'm glad y'all are enjoying the story so much - it's so important to me that you all like the story, and that I'm making it enjoyable and fun to read. I super super super appreciate every single review I've received!**

 **Cheers!**


	18. Revelations

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 18: The Shadowed Past**

"Wait, we're not gonna –"

"Kid, just stop for a second…"

"He's not going to stop screaming anytime soon, is he?"

"Yeah, I think we may have startled him."

"You _think_?"

"Shut up, Roni."

"You're such a gentleman, Fritz."

"Look, just go back, okay? I'll stay and explain – having only one of us here should make it less scary for him."

"Why can't I stay and talk to him?"

"Because I'm the oldest."

"Yeah, good luck with that plan."

"Roni, I swear to God…"

* * *

"Not that I'm not enjoying watching Marion get what I'm sure is a well-deserved thrashing, would one of you be willing to fill me in?" Jeremy had been listening to Gold yell something about 'Mike' and 'child' and 'dead' and 'I'll set your box on fire if you dare touch him again!' and was, frankly, getting a bit concerned. Mike was the name of his missing night guard – he hadn't actually met the boy, but Fazbear had said he was a nice, smart, if quiet, kid.

Before either could try and awkwardly explain the past week to the guard, the doors on either side of the office became crowded with worried animatronics.

"Ahoy, Jeremy, we be hearin' the sounds of a scuffle!" Foxy poked his head in, hook raised defensively, just in case.

"Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald, we were quite worried." Opposite the fox stood Freddy, arms crossed and one brow raised as he peered at Gold and Marion. "Fighting is against the rules here at Freddy's."

Gold hesitated a moment before releasing his friend, dropping his hands to his side. Marion immediately reached up to rub at his sore neck, straightening the cloth that covered his spine.

"Marion! Hi!" Bonnie stuck his head under Foxy's arm, grinning at the puppet. "We haven't seen you since…since last Friday! How's the endoskeleton doing? You named him Mike, right?"

"Mike?" Jeremy's eyes narrowed as he glared at the puppet. "You wouldn't happen to know where Mike Schmidt is, would you, Marion?"

The puppet stiffened and glanced at the man, discomfort radiating from every pore of his cloth and plaster body. Gold stepped away from him, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on his muzzle.

"Well, Marion? You started this whole debacle – _you_ explain."

* * *

"Feeling better, kid?"

Mike, who had finally screamed himself hoarse and was on his hands and knees, trembling and panting, looked up through his bangs at the floating form of Fritz Smith. The other spirits had disappeared – he didn't know where they had gone, nor did he particularly care at the moment. The ghost crouched in front of him, a friendly smile on his heavily-freckled face.

"I'm sorry we startled you," the young man's voice was soft now, and his brows were drawn down in concern. His eyes – despite being black with small white pupils – conveyed worry as he looked Mike up and down. "Are you alright? You don't look hurt."

"I, uh," the night guard had to stop and swallow, hard, and brace himself to answer, only to have his voice fail when he opened his mouth to say 'fine'. The ghost, seeing his very obvious discomfort, sat cross-legged in front of him.

"Hey, just take a deep breath, okay? I don't bite." Fritz snorted at his own joke. Mike sat back and rearranged his legs, mirroring the ghost's pose and crossing his legs. "There, better now Michael?"

"Uh, just Mike is fine."

"Mike, then. So what – or _who_ – brought you down to my little corner of Freddy's?" The ghost leaned back, propping himself up with his arms, and waited patiently while the teen gathered his wits and tried to cobble together an answer.

"I, er, pissed off the Marionette…" Mike finally stuttered.

"Really?" Fritz snorted, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Well that _is_ an accomplishment. I always saw him as a pretty laid-back guy." He leaned forward, dropping his hands into his lap as he fixed his gaze on Mike's. "So is that where you disappeared to this past week, then? To the old restaurant with the puppet?"

"Yeah – how did you…?"

The man shrugged. "Lucky guess. We saw you get snatched up by Marionette last Friday – nice move with the trip-wire, by the way. Foxy totally would have ended up face-planting if you hadn't been puppet-napped."

"So you can see what goes on in the restaurant?"

"Oh yeah, we all can," he motioned to the row of mummies behind him. "We're all connected to this place and can go wherever we want, as long as it's on restaurant property."

"…All?" Mike paled – he'd walked past at least nearly fifty corpses on his way to the door, maybe more – he wasn't good at estimating. That…that was a lot of ghosts.

Fritz put up his hands. "Oh, no, not _all_ of us," he thumbed over his shoulder, "Most of these guys have gone on, into the light and all that. There's about…uh…ten of us, I think, that are still around. Some of them can't figure out how to get on with it, and the rest of us want to help the new guards if we can."

"New guards?"

"Yeah, like you," Fritz began chewing on his thumb nail. "Roni – she's over there," he thumbed over his shoulder again, motioning to a small mummy with bright red hair, "looks like a kid, so she'll run around the restaurant at night and try to distract them from going to the office. Mark, Sean, and Aaron make noise to keep them near the stage, and Donnie – he's the one who was by me – has been trying to figure out how to possess the 'bots to stop them."

"But I didn't see any of that!" Mike protested, sitting forward on his knees.

Fritz snorted. "Well of course not. You were already being frightened to tears by them, we weren't about to scare you by having a bunch of ghostly ex-night guards pop up on the cams."

"I wasn't in tears!"

"Look, it's nothing to be ashamed of – I only worked _one_ night and trust me, I was crying like a baby when Freddy grabbed me…"

Not in the mood to argue this, Mike interrupted him. "So, wait – _why_ are the animatronics even bothering the night guards in the first place? The phone guy said something about a glitch…"

"Yep," Fritz nodded sagely, "the Phone Guy – nice name, by the way – used to be an engineer here. He was moved to guard duty for a few weeks before retiring. He tried to fix the animatronics after they chased him and accused him of being a naked endoskeleton. It didn't work, obviously – something is so screwed up in their processors that it can't be fixed. A lot of people have tried."

"So why is this place still open? I mean, there's gotta be people out there looking for the missing guards," Mike demanded.

Fritz snorted, then let out a loud chuckle. "Mike, kid, trust me – nobody is looking for us." He glanced over his shoulder at the long line of corpses. "Management here only hires those who aren't going to be missed – they know what happens here at night, but don't want to spend the money to have the animatronics rebuilt without the glitch. They find people who are alone or rejected – released prisoners, kids who've dropped out of school or run away, people who are down on their luck, the homeless, the druggies…" Fritz scratched at his arm, and Mike watched him as he pushed his sleeve up and itched a smattering of track marks along the inside of his elbow. "They held out their arms and offered us a job, and we leapt at the chance. Those who managed to survive the five nights would never be believed about what goes on here, so there's no risk in hiring them."

"That's…that's…"

"Awful, right?" Fritz reached out to ruffle the teens hair, only to have his hand go straight through the messy hair and into his scalp. He yanked his hand back when Mike yelped and grabbed at his hair.

"Yipes! What was that for?" Mike scratched at his scalp – it had felt like a sudden, odd brain freeze had hit when Fritz had touched him.

"Sorry, sorry," Fritz held up his hands, "sometimes I forget that I can't, uh, do stuff like that anymore." He chuckled awkwardly at the teens disbelieving look. "So, uh, what happened when the Marionette grabbed you? We've all been pretty worried this past week, especially when we saw the snow."

Mike knew a re-direct when he saw one, but if Fritz didn't want to talk about the killer animatronics anymore, he would respect that. He shoved the nagging questions about the glitch and management to the back of his mind and began re-living the last week.

"Well, first off, that teleporting thing Marion does is _awful_! It's like riding a hundred roller coasters at once – I swear, I've never felt so sick…"

* * *

"I will _end_ you."

Normally, it was rather hard to spook Marion, but Jeremy's cool, stone-like declaration sent a shiver down his spine.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," Freddy coughed softly, catching the simmering guard's attention, "Need I remind you that _murder_ is against the rules of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria?"

"No exception?" Jeremy asked, voice still flat as rolled pizza dough.

"No exception," Freddy agreed, adjusting his hat.

Beside Gold (who had been using his own powers to keep Marion from poofing somewhere else), the puppet slumped ever-so-slightly in relief.

"What about kidnapping, Freddy? Is that against the rules?" Jeremy shifted his gaze to the animatronic. "What in the world were you thinking, allowing Marion to just grab a kid and magic him away?"

"Mr. Fitzgerald," the bear tilted his head, "Mike, as he has been named, is an animatronic, just like all the other night guards."

"That reminds me – why aren't you attacking him?" Marion pointed at the guard, head cocked curiously. All four of the original animatronics gave him an odd look.

"Because he's Jeremy?" Chica, who had slipped in past Freddy and was sitting by the desk as she listened, gave him a crooked smile. "He's the head guard – we see him every day."

"So…because you've seen him during the day, you can identify him as a human at night?" Gold tried to clarify. "The other guards – none of them spoke to you during the day, did they?"

"Well of course not!" Bonnie chuckled. "If they'd been there during the day, management would have put them in their suits!"

"Aye, and look'it his chest!" Foxy piped up, pointing at Jeremy's badge. "'es got the Head Guard badge! See it – it's silver, while all the nigh' guards wear gold!"

Jeremy absently straightened his 'Head Guard' badge, staring at Marion and Gold with cautious curiosity. "What are you talking about, attacking me? Attacking the other night guards? Just because they ditched the job doesn't mean these guys," he motioned to the four current animatronics, "hurt them or chased them away."

"Of course not," Marion had regained his cool for the moment, and was examining his nail-less fingers in an aloof manner, "they killed them."

"What?"

"WHAT?"

"What ye be spoutin' there, mate?!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Freddy and Jeremy hollered at the same time, silencing the others, before both rounding on Marion.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The night guard demanded, ignoring Freddy's disapproving glance at his swearing.

"I thought for sure management would have told you." Marion ignored Gold's whispering ( _Shut up, now is not the time or the place, you idiot!_ ) "These four have a _glitch_ that keeps them from recognizing any unknown person here after hours as a human. They see them as _naked endoskeletons_ in need of a suit."

"A suit? Like, a three-piece double breast pinstripe?"

"No, like one of the extra animatronic costumes in the backroom."

"But – no, that's impossible. Those are full of crossbeams and wires…if a human were put in one, they would…it would…"

"Exactly," Marion smirked, "these four are murderers. I think they're up to…oh what number are they on, Gold? Fifty-three dead guards, or fifty-four?"

Gold clapped his large paw over the puppets mask, effectively silencing him. "Shut up, dumbass." Ignoring Freddy's second disapproving look of the night, he gazed at the others evenly. "Yes, you have killed human night guards, but it's due to a glitch. We've been trying to fix it for years, but nothing has worked."

Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy were silent, their eyes large and shock evident on their faces. Freddy was stone-faced as always, though black had begun to bleed into the whites of his eyes.

"It's not your fault," Gold continued, tightening his grip on Marion when the puppet made a muffled rebuttal. "Your basic programming overrode your AI and confused your sentience. Nobody blames you for what happened."

There was silence for a moment as his words were processed. The tense silence was broken by a hiccupping sob, and Chica stood and dashed out of the room, followed closely by Bonnie. Foxy stood uncertainly beside Jeremy, wringing his tail between his hand and hook.

"Foxy," Freddy said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his muzzle, "please go make sure Bonnie and Chica are alright."

"Aye, cap'n." The vulpine dashed from the room and sprinted to catch up with the others, who had disappeared into the kitchen. Silence ruled for a couple of minutes, the two supernatural beings watching as both Jeremy and Freddy tried to organize their thoughts.

"Well," the bear finally sighed, "you could have told us with a bit more…tact."

Gold mirrored his sigh. "I know, but once Marion started on it I couldn't just let it stay…unexplained."

"I understand, brother. Thank you for shutting up Marion."

The puppet let out a muffled huff, for Gold had yet to remove his hand. "Of course."

"Mr. Fitzgerald, are you alright? You look a bit pale." All three animatronics peered at the night guard, who was leaning back in his rolling chair, an expression of shock still masking his face.

"Fine," the man pushed himself up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just…yeah. I need some time to think about this."

"Of course," Freddy nodded. "Excuse me, I need to check on the others." He nodded to them, proper as ever, before leaving to join the others in the kitchen.

Once he was gone, Jeremy moved to stand beside Gold. "Can you go get Mike, please? I doubt he's having much fun in the basement, but I don't have a key to it so I can't get him."

Gold released Marion, who took several steps away and rubbed at his face, brows pulled heavily down over his eyes. "I'll get him," the bear agreed, "please don't kill Marion while I'm gone. That is a show I wouldn't want to miss." He winked and disappeared in a small puff of smoke, which quickly dissipated. Jeremy sat back in his chair and, after one last glare at Marion, he spun his chair around and focused on the tablet.

* * *

"…and of course it was an accident, but then Marion started yelling at me and called me clumsy, and since I had the music box in hand at the time…"

Fritz, as well as several of the other ghosts that had popped up once he'd started his story, all leaned forward, eager to hear what they were sure was a great act of defiance.

"You did an incredibly stupid thing and angered Marion beyond all reason, instead of turning the other cheek like any intelligent person would."

Mike and the ghosts all jumped as Gold faded into sight behind them, one brow raised sardonically as he looked at the little night-guard pow-wow.

"Gold!" Fritz leapt to his feet as though someone had put a firecracker in his pants. "What are you doing here? You never visit us! What, uh, what happened?" The other ghosts were quick to move beside Fritz, who was the oldest ghost there and on the best terms with the four supernatural animatronics that lurked around the buildings.

"Nothing bad," Gold sighed, his gaze softening, "but I'm afraid Mike's visit is over for now."

The oldest ghost scowled. "Marion isn't going to hurt him, is he?"

"No," the bear smirked at the over-protective guard, who had been an older brother during his life and still retained some of the over-protective habits from when he could breath. "The head guard, Jeremy Fitzgerald, bullied the story out of Marion and wants to talk to Mike now."

"…am I fired?" Mike used the round door handle to pull himself up, his legs prickling with sleep from sitting for so long.

Gold snorted. "No, I don't believe so. He's just been worried about you for the past week – the restaurant has been closed thanks to the snow, so they didn't go and hire a new night guard yet."

"Oh. So, er, how do we get out of here?"

Gold brushed past the ghosts and held his hand out to the boy. "We teleport."

"We – uh, any other way?"

"Nope, sorry."

Fritz flashed the suddenly green boy a sympathetic smile. "It was nice to meet you, Mike. If you continue to work here, I hope you don't mind us popping by to say hello."

The teen nodded in agreement, his lips already pressed tightly together as Gold took a tight hold of his upper arm. With a slight snap of misplaced air rushing into place, the two disappeared.

"I hope he pukes on Marion's feet."

"Me too, Roni."

* * *

Marion had disappeared in a sulky huff when he realized Jeremy wasn't going to speak to him, meaning the puppet wasn't there to see Mike dry heave while being held up by Gold.

"I…really…hate…that…" The teen gasped, barely paying attention when a bottle of water was thrust into his hands. He twisted off the top and emptied half of it before realizing there was someone aside from the bear watching him.

"Are you alright, Mike?" Jeremy asked when they made eye contact, his blue eyes searching the younger guards face of any sign of injury.

"I'm fine Mr. Fitzgerald." Mike avoided his gaze, blushing furiously at realizing his boss had seen him being sick. At least his stomach had been empty…

"Well, that's a relief." Jeremy clapped him on the shoulder, not seeing how the boy flinched at the contact. "So, Marion told me you are currently homeless."

The teen flushed. "Er, yeah, I guess. I mean, the YMCA always has available beds…"

"Really? You're, what, thirteen? And they let you stay there alone?"

"No, I'm fift—I'm eighteen, okay? I…I don't have my ID, it's in my backpack at the other restaurant, but - "

Jeremy held up his hand, stopping him. "Kid, don't. It's obvious you're still a teen, okay? I don't care. I was only asking because I've got an extra room at my apartment."

"But I…wait, what?" Mike's gaze snapped to the head guards, his jaw hanging open.

The man snorted. "I've got a free room at my apartment. From what Marion told me, you don't have a home, right? No parents or siblings?"

"No…"

"Come stay with me, at least for a while. Long enough to get on your feet – maybe if we can get this, uh," Jeremy hesitated for a moment, "the glitch with the animatronics fixed, you can take on the night guard job full time. You'll make enough money to live on your own pretty quick."

Mike chewed on his bottom lip, uncertain for the moment. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gold put a heavy paw on his shoulder.

"Michael, you can trust Jeremy. He is a good man, and will look after you." He crouched, bringing them eye to eye. "The others – Teddy, Blue, Chicky, Mangle, and BB would want you to be somewhere safe, alright? You know where their restaurant is – if anything is wrong, or if you just want to see them, you can go knock on one of the windows, and I'm sure they'll let you in."

"I'd love to see them again," Jeremy smiled at them. "Tomorrow – er, today, it's almost four after all – I don't work; we can go visit them this afternoon if you want."

The boy still thought it over for a few minutes, before nodding. "Alright," his answer still sounded hesitant, but he gave a firm nod.

"Awesome," Jeremy grinned. "Let's go, then. You have anything you need to grab?"

Mike automatically reached for his shoulder strap, only to grasp air. "Er, my backpack…"

"You can get it this afternoon," Gold reassured him. "I'll make sure it's all packed for you."

The boy sagged in relief. "Thank you."

"Of course," Gold made a shooing motion. "Both of you go get some rest – I'll keep an eye on the others."

"Thank you, Gold." Jeremy smiled and nodded to the bear. "C'mon, kiddo. It's gonna take a minute for my truck to warm up – the thing is older than dirt, hates the cold." He slung an arm around Mike's shoulder and led him from the office to the parking lot. Behind them, Gold plopped down in the rolling chair, a satisfied smile curling his lips as the two left.

* * *

Jeremy's rusty blue truck had taken them to a nice apartment near the edge of town. It was by a middle-class neighborhood that boasted various houses with gardens and lawns, and a park was settled only a few blocks from the four-story brick building. The head guard lived in apartment E on the second floor, and led the way across the slushy lot and sidewalks to the open-air wooden stairs. Mike followed dutifully, shivering inside Jeremy's borrowed jacket.

The apartment was a moderately-sized two-bed, one-bath layout with a living room, dining nook and good-sized kitchen. Jeremy had shown Mike the guest room, which had a full-sized bed all made up, as well as a desk, dressers, and a bookshelf. He'd stuttered when Jeremy had said it was all his, and the man hadn't pushed the shy boy into accepting it then and there. Instead he told the boy to go make something to eat and watch TV while he took a shower.

Mike happily acquiesced, slapping together a peanut-butter sandwich and pulling a can of ginger ale from the fridge to eat while he wandered about the living room. He wasn't much for television – at home, his dad had dominated the TV, especially when sports were on, and Mike had found it far safer to stay in his room and read. Now, even with a set all to his self, he ignored it in favor of looking around the room.

There were tasteful artistic prints on the walls, matching the IKEA furniture. Other than the TV, there was a couch, a chair with a matching ottoman, two bookshelves crammed with everything from comics to neurology texts, and a desk with a computer and a stack of papers. The desk was beside the window, and Mike brushed past it to take a look at the dark street. His hip bumped against the papers, and they slid off and fell to the carpet like a handful of unwieldy snowflakes.

Mike swore silently and shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth before kneeling down to gather the papers. He shuffled them into a semblance of order and put them back beside the keyboard. He'd just stood to retrieve his drink when he realized he'd missed one, which had slid partway under the couch. He snatched it up and, without thinking of privacy or manners, took a look at it.

It was a medical scan – an MRI of a brain, which showed dark scarring between the gaps in brain matter all along the right side of the frontal lobe, where Mangle had accidentally bitten the man while trying to say thank you. He ran his thumb over the print out, wondering absently how painful it had been to be bit there. He'd thought of putting a bullet in his brain more than once – he still did, actually – would it hurt like a bite would? Or would a bullet be fast enough that he wouldn't feel anything?

"Hey kiddo, you okay?"

Mike hadn't realized how long he'd been staring at the odd picture. He snapped his head up and stared at the man, who was toweling his face dry, an amused look in his now-familiar baby blue eyes. When Mike didn't say anything, Jeremy lowered his towel, a frown on his face as he came to stand in front of the teen. Along his right brow was the line of scars from Mangles teeth, but Mike didn't care about those.

Instead he stared at the thin, almost invisible white scar along Jeremy's left jawbone.

* * *

 **AN: I'm just going to leave this here.**

Cheers!

 **(ALSO: I've made an ask blog that features Marion, Gold, Shab, Shaf, the Freddles and Plushtrap: Ask The Gift Givers. It's on tumblr, or on my dA page under the artist name Brighthart. I could really use some questions, so if you're interested, please check it out and send them an ask! Thanks!)**


	19. Reunions

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 19: Reunions**

For a terrifying moment, Jeremy Fitzgerald thought the homeless kid Goldie had convinced him to take in was attacking him. He barely had time to drop his towel and throw up his arms in front of his face and neck before the child – fifteen, according to the boys' stuttered inadvertent admission at the restaurant – hit him.

He waited for a heavy blow to the face or arm, but they never came. Instead, the boy wrapped his arms around his chest and buried his face against the man's clean t-shirt. He'd launched himself at Jeremy with enough force that the man lost his balance and fell back, sitting hard on the thick carpet. Mike remained attached to him like a limpet as they fell, landing awkwardly half-sprawled between Jeremy's legs, his face still pressed against the older man's chest.

It took a moment for Jeremy to realize the child was hugging him, fiercely so, as though afraid the man was going to go up in a plume of smoke. Slowly, he put his hands on the limpet's shoulders, only to realize the child was shaking.

"Mike? Kiddo?"

The boy mumbled something into his chest.

"I can't understand ya, kid. I don't have ears in my t-shirt."

Mike pulled his head away from the snot-soaked shirt and glanced up, the look of adoration, love, and worship in his eyes stunning the man. His lashes were wet with tears, and he had to take a deep breath to quell his shaky sobs before he could repeat what he'd said.

"AJ."

* * *

When Gold teleported into the Toy's restaurant, he was very unsurprised to see that Marion's box had several heavy boxes on top of it, as well as pieces of duck-tape around the edge, keeping it sealed tight. Balloon Boy had even added a festive green balloon with a frowny-face drawn on it to stand guard. One of the tables was still groaning beneath the weight of birthday cake and pizza, as well as the pair of birthday presents Mike had gotten.

The Toy's themselves were sitting on the stage, creating a rather morose circle. There was a barely-started puzzle in the middle – they'd obviously been trying to entertain themselves, but had given up in the face of overwhelming depression and worry. Even BB had a frown on his face as he sat in Mangle's lap, fiddling with a deflated balloon.

"Well you're a sorry looking bunch." Gold climbed onto the stage and stood beside Teddy, who had was trying to repair the ribbon around his hat. The brown bears hand stilled, the tiny needle clutched awkwardly between his fingers. His head snapped up at Gold's voice, as did the others.

"Goldie!" Blue, being a rabbit, leapt to his feet and threw himself at the bear, who caught him and returned his hug, a bit taken aback by the normally aloof rabbits show of affection. "Did you find him? Is he okay?"

"Yes to both," the bear soothed as the others stood and crowded around. "Michael is fine – Jeremy took him home."

All five of the Toys visibly relaxed at that – they knew their best human friend Jeremy would take care of the child.

"In fact, Jeremy was talking about visiting this afternoon along with Michael. Both are very eager to see you."

"Jeremy's coming?!" Chicky's feathers fluffed up in delight. "Oh, I'll have to make a fresh pizza – he always liked pepperoni and sausage, remember? – and we should see if we can turn on some of the arcade games to play, and –"

"Chicky," Gold held up his hand, stopping her. "Jeremy might not stay to celebrate for long."

"Why not?" Teddy was the one who asked, a frown marring his muzzle. "Marion won't be bothering them, we'll make sure of it!"

"It's not that," Gold soothed the irate bear, who was glaring at the box again. "It's just, the two may have…other things on their minds when they come."

"What kind of 'other things'?" Blue squinted curiously at the bear.

To their surprise, a large smile spread over Gold's face, and he positively seemed to ooze happiness. "Oh, just some family matters…"

* * *

"AJ?"

Mike nodded and buried his head back in the man's chest, refusing to loosen his grip.

"You've got the wrong person, kid. My name is Jeremy. Jeremy Adam Fitzgerald."

"No," the declaration was slightly muffled but still firm. Mike tightened his arms, refusing to loosen his grip, but did lift his head again. "You're AJ. Alex Jeremy Schmidt."

"Look, I'm sorry, but-"

"Fitzgerald was our moms' maiden name." Mike sat back, getting his knees beneath him, and though he dropped the hug he kept one had tangled in Jeremy's shirt, as though afraid if he let go the man would vanish for another eight years. "You always said if you ran away, you'd use Jeremy Fitzgerald as your name so dad couldn't find you."

"Dad? So, you think I'm your…brother?"

Mike shook his head furiously. "No. I know you're my brother!"

"Look, kiddo," Jeremy put his hands up, "I don't know how to break this to you, but I don't have a brother. I'm an only child, and an orphan. Both of my parents are dead."

"No," Mike shook his head stubbornly. "You're my brother. You've got that scar." He reached up with his empty hand and ran a finger along Jeremy's jawline, where the thin scar rested. "And dad is still alive."

"Your father is still alive?" Jeremy was frowning now, and he caught Mike's hand in his own. "Marion said you didn't have any family to go back to –"

Mike jerked his hand away and leapt to his feet, startling Jeremy with the speed at which he moved. "I don't! He's not my family, and I'm not going back! I'm never going back!"

"Whoa, kid," Jeremy slowly stood, holding his hands out in front of him. "Just slow down, okay? Whatever happened, I'm sure your dad wants to know where you are, and that you're safe. What's your dad's phone number? I'll call him for y-"

"No! He doesn't care – he never cared! I'm not going back!" Mike backed away from the man, his hands curled into fists, shaking. "How can you not remember…?" His voice took on a strained, pleading tone, sounding years younger. "How did you forget…?"

Jeremy winced, almost certain he could hear the boy's heart breaking. "Mike –"

"Mikey. You always called me Mikey."

"Okay, Mikey then." The man kept his voice calm and low, addressing Mike like he was an injured animal. "I won't call your father, okay? We'll just forget about that. It's been a long night for both of us. I want you to go take a shower," he motioned over his shoulder to the short hallway, which led to the bathroom and both bedrooms, "and go to sleep. This afternoon we'll go see the Toy animatronics, alright? Maybe if Gold is there, you can ask him about your brother. He and Marion have that supernatural-mojo-stuff; I bet they can find him for you."

"But-"

"I'm sorry. I'm not your brother. But I'm certain that together, we can find him." Jeremy gave him a soft smile and patted his shoulder, then gave him a little nudge to the bathroom. "There's some sweatpants and a t-shirt in there for you. They might be a little big, but they'll work for pajamas."

Feeling numb, Mike followed the older mans – his brothers – instructions and went into the bathroom. He took a warm shower, changed into the sweats and t-shirt, and under Jeremy's watchful eyes went to bed in the guest room. Once the man had retired to his own bed, Mike began to cry, mourning for the brother he had just lost a second time.

In the room beside him, Jeremy lay awake for hours, scratching at the scars on his forehead and wondering just what he may have forgotten seven years ago.

* * *

At one that afternoon (night guards tended not to sleep much), Jeremy's rusty blue truck parked across the street from the old Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. The streets had been cleared, but the decaying building had no one to hire a snow plow, and so the parking lot was still buried under three-foot drifts. Jeremy led the silent Mike across the lot, his height making it easier for him to carve a path through the snow. Mike, being shorter, stepped where the man stepped, struggling only once or twice to get through a deeper part.

Their drive over had been silent – in fact, the two had barely exchanged a word since they got up at noon. Jeremy, who was deep in thought and working on auto-pilot, had made them both simple sandwiches for lunch. Mike had been equally quiet, trying to tuck away a sick feeling in his stomach that had grown as he slept.

What if he was wrong? What if Jeremy wasn't his brother? No, he had to be – there was too much physical resemblance for him to be anybody else. Obviously, he'd lost his memory after being bit by Mangle. That had been…'87, right? Almost seven years ago. AJ had 'died' seven years ago. He'd made it a year beyond the reach of their father, then. Just like Mike had.

So, Jeremy _was_ AJ. That had done nothing to settle Mike's tense stomach muscles. Even if he was his brother, what if he never remembered? Those x-rays or MRI's or cat scans, whatever they were called, had shown scar tissue deep in the brain. What if there was no hope of AJ ever remembering? What if he'd lost AJ for good, and Jeremy was all that existed now? As they walked towards the doors, Mike kept his hands shoved in the pockets of the hoodie his brother _not brother not anymore maybe never again_ had lent him, and rubbed at his stomach through the heavy fleece, trying to calm it before he lost his sandwich all over the snow.

By the time they reached the doors, there were five faces pressed against the surrounding windows that hadn't been boarded up. Jeremy felt a thrill course through him at seeing his old, presumably dead/melted down friends once more. Grinning, he rapped on the door with his knuckles.

"I know it's past closing," he winked at Teddy, who was closest to the door, "but would you mind letting us in out of the cold?"

The door that was boarded up with plywood was swung open by the bear, who gave a long-suffering sigh as he gestured the two in. "Oh, I s'pose we don't have any choice, Mr. Fitzgerald. Can't have our favorite guards freezing t' death!" Once the two guards were in, he shut the door behind them and something none of them could see clicked as the door locked.

"Jeremy!" Chicky elbowed past Teddy and wrapped her wings around the man, squeezing him gently, ever mindful of her strength. "It's so good to see you – we've missed you so, so much!"

Blue, meanwhile, wrapped an arm around Mike and tucked the boy against his side. "Don't you _ever_ do something so stupid again." The harsh words were rendered completely ineffective by the soft, relieved tone of voice. "You scared the bolts out of us!"

"C-calm down, Blue," Mangle hugged the boy from his other side, frowning at the bunny. "It's Marion who's at fault here." She smiled fondly down at Mike, then beamed at BB when the animatronic boy wrapped his arms around Mike's leg.

"Now, now, you two, 's in the past!" Teddy interrupted them, coming to stand before Mike. "We've got too much ta do today to be worryin' bout who did what!"

"What are we doing today?" Jeremy shrugged off Chicky's hug and moved to stand beside Teddy, slinging an arm around the bears shoulder – well, as much of his shoulder as he could. While he was taller than Mike, Jeremy was still a good foot shorter than Teddy.

"We're celebrating!" Chicky motioned to the room, and both humans finally took a chance to look around. There were balloons bobbing along the tables, chairs, and stage, complementing the hanging banners that read 'Congratulations!' and 'Happy Birthday Mikey!' in turn. Most of the decorations were centered around one table – the largest one in the middle, which had once-upon-a-time been used for big birthday celebrations. A large cake with several tiers – three, each one a different color with different sprinkles – took up the middle. On either side was a pizza box, with steam still rising from the top. There were pitchers with water, lemonade, and what looked like root beer by a stack of plates and forks. Jeremy suddenly felt as though that simple sandwich had been hours ago, and beside him Mike began to salivate.

"What are we celebrating?" Jeremy asked as he moved towards the table, Mike right behind him.

"Well you two, of course!" Mangle scrambled along the ceiling and reached the table before them, dropping down to stand near the cake. "It's such exciting news!"

Mike's steps hesitated, but Jeremy didn't falter, walking right up to the table and popping open one of the pizza boxes. "Mmm, double pepperoni and sausage! You guys remembered!"

"Well of course," Chicky huffed as the animatronics gathered around. She pulled out a chair and ushered Jeremy to it, before dishing up several slices for the man. "I also remember you never eat less than three slices in one sitting."

"It's just like old times!" Jeremy laughed as a plate with the aforementioned three slices was set in front of him. Mangle pulled out the chair beside him for Mike, who copied his _not brother never again brother AJ is dead and gone_ coworker and sat. Mangle opened the second box, revealing a pepperoni and extra cheese pizza – his own favorite. She served him a slice, ruffling his hair as she did so.

"We're so happy you're okay, Mikey." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, beaming brighter when he blushed bright red to the tips of his ears. He mumbled something that sounded happy and busied himself with his pizza. All the animatronics could tell he was pleased with the sentiment, though.

Teddy heaved himself into one of the chairs across from Jeremy, leaning back with his hands folded over his belly. "Well, boy, tell us wha' you been up ta the past few years!" The other animatronics quickly joined, sitting either beside the humans or beside Teddy.

Jeremy polished off his first piece and wiped his hands on his jeans (which got a napkin shoved in his face by Chicky, who tutted at his 'deplorable' manners). "Well, after this place was closed, I got promoted to head guard…"

Mike tuned the man out as he spoke of his job at the current restaurant, as well as something about a girlfriend and his truck. He nibbled on his slice, trying not to think about how excited he would be to talk with Jeremy if he was _was not is not never will be again_ his brother.

"Can I have a slice?"

Mike yelped and fell out of his chair, landing on his rear on the tiles beside Jeremy, as a head poked itself _through the table_ and looked down at him with a curious smile.

"Is that a yes?"

The head was that of a young boy, around five or so, with tousled hair and a smattering of freckles. His large eyes were completely black with white pupils, and the thin blonde brows were arched above them in surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" He _stepped_ out of the table, which was still visible through his t-shirt and short clad torso. Still in his seat, Jeremy dropped his slice of pizza, along with his jaw.

A huff from behind Mike made the boy tense up even farther, but a familiar voice made his shoulders relax, even as a pair of yellow hands hauled him upright. "Scott, I told you to stop popping out of things. You're going to get stuck one day." Gold scolded as he dusted off Mike, who protested that he could do it himself.

"But it's _fuuuuuun_!" Scott pouted, stomping his foot, and both humans noticed that he was floating several inches above the floor.

"Giving humans heart attacks is not fun." Gold disagreed, "and why are you asking for pizza anyway? You can't eat."

Scott crossed his arms and looked at the floor. "I know, but it'd be nice if someone offered once in a while…"

The elderly bear rolled his eyes before turning on the two humans. "Well, I'm glad to see you made it safe and sound! I was worried the snow would delay your trip." He gave Jeremy an appraising look. "Then I remembered our dear guard facing the Blizzard of '89 in order to cover a night shift, just because Chica offered to make him a pizza."

Jeremy scowled, blushing exactly the same as Mike had done earlier; even the tips of his ears colored. "She makes good pizza," he defended as the others snickered and giggled. "And that reminds me – I need to talk to you," he pointed at Gold, a scowl suddenly in place, "about that bombshell you dropped earlier."

"Of course," Gold inclined his head, "But it can wait for a bit – you two have yet to cut the cake, and I'm certain you don't want to be apart for very long, hmm?" His declaration was met by confused blue eyes and hurt, dark brown ones. "Wait, did you two not figure it out…?"

Jeremy wasn't stupid enough to play dumb, not when all the other animatronics obviously knew something he didn't. "Are you talking about us maybe being related?" He asked, wording the question carefully.

"There's no _maybe_ about it!" Gold had a hint of confusion in his eyes, but was smiling non-the-less. "You don't remember, Jeremy, but before the Bite, you told me about Mikey."

"I did?"

"He did?"

"Yes, of course." Gold rested a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "I found out you were under eighteen and wanted you to quit – go home, reconcile with your family, all of that. You told me about your…your home life," Gold had to pause and clear his throat, fighting back a murderous red gleam in his eyes as he did so, "and about your little brother." They noted the stutter in his voice box, but nobody mentioned it – all the animatronics, Mike, and Scott knew what he was talking about, and Jeremy was too distracted by this new information to notice.

The man was quiet for several long moments, the rest watching as he thought over Gold's words. "Why didn't you ever mention it? I saw you after the bite – you never said anything about a brother."

"I tried, a few times, but you always brushed it off. Your brain filled in what it could of your past, and your family was left out of that." Gold shrugged. "After a few years, I realized there wasn't anything I could do at the time, especially since I didn't know your real name or where you lived before running away."

"So, Mike really _is_ my little brother?" Jeremy asked, words a bit stilted.

Gold and the rest of the animatronics nodded, and the man turned to the boy.

"I don't understand. Why would I have left you alone at home?" He asked, a sneaking suspicion beginning to snake around the back of his mind, one he was praying would not be true.

"Dad didn't give you a choice." Now that he was being directly addressed, Mike found the resolve to speak. "He – he threw you into a glass table, and you were bleeding. A lot. He took you – he _said_ he took you to the hospital, but when he got home without you, he said you died…" Mike took a deep, shuddery breath, and Gold placed an arm around his shoulders to steady him. "I thought – I was certain, he had an obituary cut out that he showed me, I really did think…but then what did he do that night?"

Jeremy rubbed at his chin, fingers ghosting over his scar that had apparently started this whole thing eight years ago, and thought hard about it.

"I –"

Mike's eyes lit up as he looked at his brother, waiting for some kind of epiphany, like in the daytime television soaps his dad would sleep through after a binge. He'd seen it before – the person with amnesia would get their memory back (usually after falling in love with the wrong person) all at one moment, everyone would celebrate, and it would be just like it was before the ratings sweeps.

"I don't remember anything before the bite."

Like one of BB's flops, Mike deflated, his shoulders drooping as he stared at his big _yes yes it's him but it's not him AJ is gone there's only Jeremy now_ brother. "Nothing? You…you don't remember anything?"

"No." Jeremy shook his head, looking frustrated.

Gold sighed and reached over to pat Jeremy's shoulder. "Not to worry – Marion and I thought this might happen. Your memories may be lost for good, or they may just need time to resurface. Everything from before you first ran away from home is in there, somewhere – we just need to find the key to unlocking it."

"Why did I run away from home?" Jeremy suddenly asked, looking at Gold. The bear's eyes had begun to turn red again, and he shut them tightly, rubbing at them to fend off the anger that was suddenly surging through his ancient gold limbs.

Mike felt as though he'd been struck for the tenth time that day. His stomach began to twist, objecting to the greasy pepperoni he'd downed, and he put his hands once more in the hoodie pockets, clutching at his gut through the fabric so the others couldn't see. "You don't remember why you left?" _Of course he doesn't he was gone a year when he knew you obviously he doesn't care he's not your brother anymore hasn't been since the glass table he's not AJ he's Jeremy and he doesn't give a damn_. "You don't remember what happened?"

"Obviously not," Jeremy snapped, then softened when the boy recoiled. "I'm sorry, Mike, I didn't mean to yell. This is just…this is a lot to take in. So, what was so awful that I had to run away?" The cajoling tone, the levity in it, as though he was expecting some silly teenage answer – 'he took away your phone privileges, he wouldn't let you date a pretty girl, he didn't get you a cool car for your sixteenth birthday' – undid what little restraint the overwrought, overwhelmed, overtired teen had left.

"You wanna know what he did?" He snarled, yanking himself out from under Gold's arm. Blue and Chicky, who both had an inkling of just what was about to happen, lunged across the table at the same time to try and stop him. They weren't fast enough, however – Mike grabbed his t-shirt through the hoodie fabric and, in one swift motion, jerked off both the shirt and sweatshirt, leaving him bare chested. "This is what he did!"

He turned, revealing the roadmap of scars on his back.

* * *

 **AN: Whelp, Mike's finally been pushed to his limit, both emotionally, physically, and mentally. Bad timing for him, huh?**

 **Thank you, as always, for all the reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you like this one! Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Please REVIEW because I LOVE REVIEWS and enjoy reading them again and again and again and again and again and AGAIN and I'm so ecstatic! I wonder if we can break 400 reviews on this or the next chapter? Although I'm more interested in y'all enjoying the story, but it would be fun to see!**

 **Cheers!**


	20. Bare Reality

**Can We Keep Him?**

 **Chapter 20: Bare Reality**

The sick, still silence that took over the room was stifling, seeming to sit on each of them with a weight far more than any of them could hope to carry. Mike, barebacked and bearing his back, did not see the looks that crossed the faces of human and animatronics alike.

Blue and Chicky were the only ones who had seen the scars before, when he was a child in their care. Teddy and Mangle, who had heard of them, were struck by what they saw. The marks - wide and thin, deep and shallow, red and pink and brown and white - wrenched at their mechanical hearts, and all four began to bleed black into their eyes. BB, who was just as old as them despite his child-like mindset, buried his head in Mangle's side and sniffled. Gold, who had known about the scars from Marion (who had found out thanks to his habit of snooping in unsuspecting humans thoughts), had to turn his head away in order to get his eyes, which were flashing a dangerous red, and emotions under control.

Scott, who had also heard along the Marion grapevine about Mike's scars, frowned and tilted his head as he looked at the boys back. He had a few similar scars along his own back, but no where near as many as Mike. His dad had only ever taken the strap to him two or three times, and only after he'd screwed up bad and hurt someone else, or badly hurt himself. He'd always used restraint, as well - no more than five hits, ever, and never enough to purposely break the skin. And his dad had cuddled him afterward, every time. Obviously, Mike's dad hadn't been good at restraining himself.

Jeremy was the only one who physically reacted. He jerked back, his entire body going stiff as his mind rapidly tried to process what Mike was presenting him. As the clues - _No! He's not my family, and I'm not going back! I'm never going back!_ \- clicked into place, and his stomach twisted into a knot deep in his gut. "God!" He hissed between his teeth, which remained clenched to prevent a marvelous display of his double sausage and pepperoni pizza.

This was years _and years and years and years_ of abuse. Jeremy knew about scars - he'd done extensive research after the Bite, looking at ways to lessen the dashes across his right brow. They were shiny and pink and a bit of a distraction when trying to woo the ladies, despite years of trying different remedies to make them fade back into his normal, tanned skin. Of course, his curiosity had taken him beyond just his little scars - he'd ended up studying dermatology extensively, looking at thousands of pictures of scars, examining how the skin knit itself together when presented with a challenge.

This...this was horrid. The way the scars layered upon one another showed that time had passed between beatings, and rough edges along some were indicative of infections that had been left to fester instead of being properly attended to. The darker ones puckered at the edges, the belt or whip striking deep enough to damage the muscle and skew any attempts of the body to restore itself. Others were raised in welts, skin stretched to create little hills among the valleys.

Beyond the lurching nausea, something dark and angry stirred. Deep within his heart, something that had been sleeping reared its head and roared at seeing the damage done to the child. Jeremy took a step towards Mike as brotherly protectiveness reared it's head, demanding justice for the injured little brother in front of him.

"Mike…" He breathed the word, barely a whisper, but in the hushed room it seemed to carry like cannon fire.

The boy turned, the shirt and hoodie still clutched in one hand, and looked up at the man with stiff, resolute eyes. The eyes of one waiting to be denied and hurt again and again, after receiving nothing but for the rest of his life. The eyes of one prepared for denial and rejection.

Out of instinct, his eyes traveled down the boys front, looking for signs of more trauma and damage. At first glance, there was nothing - his arms and chest appeared fine, other than being much, _much_ too thin, the bones poking out to show ribs and clavicles. His black slacks hung at his hips, held in place by a piece of dark thread tied in a knot. Then Jeremy noticed something out of the ordinary.

The skin above his hip on either side had short scars - thin and white, ever so slightly raised along the edge. Unlike the thick, broad strokes on his back, which criss-crossed every which way, these were orderly, neatly placed horizontal lines. There were dozens of them, nearly invisible on Mike's pale skin. If one didn't know what to look for, they'd miss them completely.

Mike had followed his gaze and shifted his hips, adjusting his pants slightly so they rode higher, hiding the odd scars. His eyes were still flat and distant.

"Mike," Jeremy tried again, his voice finally working, "I am so, _so_ sorry." He stepped closer and reached out to rest a hand on Mike's shoulder. The shorter boy flinched, but Jeremy didn't stop, merely slowed his movements.

"You left." God, even the boy's _voice_ was flat! "You left me there. Why didn't you come back?"

"I-I-I don't know," Jeremy stuttered, squeezing Mike's shoulder, hoping to impart comfort. "I don't remember, honestly, I don't! After the Bite I forgot about everything except for the past month or so. The doctors said I'd lost my 'previously stored long-term memory' or something like that. Mr. Fazbear showed me the documents that I gave him when I applied for the job - my drivers license and a social security card. They were - well, obviously they were fake - but they were all I had to tell me about myself. I remembered working at the restaurant, and having an apartment, but that was all. If - if I'd known I had a little brother in danger, I would have come and got you, immediately, I swear!"

Flat brown eyes stared into pleading baby blues, before Mike shrugged off his older brothers hand, turning away from him. "You were gone for a _year_ before the bite. There was a year where you still remembered. You had _plenty_ of time to come help me." He yanked his shirt and hoodie back on, hiding his scars once more. "I'm going to my room."

Jeremy moved to grab the child, but Gold intervened, grabbing his arm and stopping him. The sober group watched as the child trudged across the room and disappeared down the hall that led to the office and party rooms. For a long moment, nobody moved, none wanting to be the one to break the delicate silence.

"I'll go look after him!" Scott finally piped up after seeing the adults had become utterly worthless thanks to the harsh and pleading words between brothers. At a nod from Gold he floated off, forgoing the hall in favor of fading through one of the walls closer to the office.

The adults remained standing where they were, thinking over everything that had been said and seen in the last few minutes.

"You know, if you hadn't _locked me_ in my bloody box, I could have helped smooth that over." Marion unhelpfully pointed out, poofing into the room and scowling up at the mess of his box, hands on his hips.

Teddy rounded on him, his lips pulled back in a sneer, ready to bite the puppets head off - literally - but Gold's put-upon sigh made him pause.

"Really? What could you have done?"

"Well, first of all, I could have helped Jer here understand just what was going on," Marion ignored them as he used his magic to begin levitating the heavy boxes off his home, "Instead of throwing him to the badly-abused wolves. A little foreshadowing goes a long way. That goes for Mike, too - he obviously doesn't understand the extent of brain damage his brother suffered."

"Hey, I am _not_ brain-damaged!" Jeremy snarled, stomping his foot.

"Mmhmm," Marion hummed in unconvincing agreement, "and Freddy is a moose." He shifted the last of the crate and prowled around his box, hands folded behind his back as he examined the duct tape. A wave of his arm did nothing, neither did a snap of his fingers and a growled curse that sounded like a mix of ancient celtic and angry beaver chatter. Growling, he began to pry away the tape with his claws.

"You seem very... _calm_ despite what just happened," Blue noted, a suspicious sneer on his muzzle.

"Oh, anybody with half-a-brain and a basic understanding of human development and psychology could have seen this coming from a mile away." Marion shrugged. "I figured something like this would happen when I put the pieces together last week."

"What do you mean?" Jeremy was getting very tired like feeling a - he counted up the animatronics real quick - an eighth wheel in this conversation.

"While Mikey was a child, he had several... _unpleasant_ flashbacks during the nights. Many of them involved a beloved older brother with messy black hair, bright blue eyes, and a scar on his chin. It was easy to recognize you when I saw them."

Teddy asked a question before Jeremy could. "Jus' _how_ in Sam Hill di' you see his flashbacks?" He demanded, the others nodding in curious agreement.

Marion wanted to roll his eyes as he pulled off another piece of the silver tape, this one taking several chips of purple paint with it. "Magic," he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Haven't we been over this before?"

"That was a gross violation of privacy," Gold grumbled, narrowing his eyes, which had finally lost their reddish tint. "We should not be using our gifts to _spy_ on others."

The puppet snorted and pried up the last piece of tape. "I dare you to tell that to Shab and Shaf," he snorted, balling up the last bit of duct tape and flicking it at the bear.

"I happen to like having my head on my shoulders." Gold sniffed, arms crossed and nose in the air.

"ANY-way," Teddy growled, getting their attention, "What do we do now? Jeremy doesn't remember Mike, and Mike is...well, he needs help. More than what we can provide."

Jeremy turned hopeful eyes to Gold. "Is there anything you or him," he thumbed over his shoulder at the puppet, "can do to restore my memory?" He asked, a pleading tone in his voice. "Or - or the other two, Shadow Freddy and Shadow Bonnie, can they do anything? I never met them, but maybe...maybe they know something that can help!"

A gold paw clapped itself, gently over his mouth (and, by consequence, most of his face). "Slow down, Jeremy, please. Firstly, don't go calling for Shab and Shaf. Those two, they're…"

"Insane." Marion, after making sure his box could open and close without trouble, joined the group around the table. "Nuts. Crazy. Bonkers. Absolutely unhinged, unzipped, unglued, and unbalanced. Fruit cakes, the lot of them, completely off their rocker."

"I was going to say _odd_ ," Gold intervened before Marion could continue with his thesaurus-worthy litany of insults. "They work only for their own amusements or ends; never for the benefit of another. It is a moot point, though - there is no kind of magic to reverse damage to brain tissue."

"What?" Jeremy squawked. "You-you-you can _deage_ a child, make a fifteen-year-old _six_ again, but you can't fix a few holes in my head?"

"There's more than a few," Marion muttered, but a harder-than-necessary smack from Teddy silence him.

"Jeremy, I'm sorry," Gold sighed, removing his hat and fiddling with it. "There is nothing Marion and I can do, magically, to help you regain your memories. Therapy may work, or even just talking through things with your brother could help bring them to the surface, but that is the only solution I can think of."

"So that's it then?" Jeremy fell, trembling, into his seat by the table. "There's nothing else that can, for-sure, give me back my memory?"

"I've heard of people who lose their memory from a blow to the head regain it after a second blow. We could have Mangle bite you again." Marion suggested breezily.

The other animatronics immediately bristled, even as Mangle hid her face in her hands, trying to hide the shame she felt and was sure was spelled out across her face. To all of their surprise, however, Jeremy didn't get upset. He snorted in laughter, flashing the puppet a strained smile.

"Thanks but no thanks, Mari. I like my face just fine as it is, asymmetry and all." He groaned and propped his elbows on his knees before dropping said face in his hands. "This is so screwed up."

"Yes, well, this is what you signed up for when you became head guard." Marion patted his back. "Don't worry," his voice became uncharacteristically soft, a trait the others animatronics hadn't seen in a long time, "we will sort it all out."

"You think?" The man asked hopefully.

Marion's eyes flashed as he smiled, mask bending to raise the red-painted cheeks into a facsimile of a grin. "I know."

* * *

Scott reached the guards office just as Mike did, having taken a shortcut through the walls in order to do so. He watched as the boy threw himself down on the large bed, face buried in the pillows. The dolls of the Toy animatronics were sitting on the edge of the bed that ran along the wall, watching him with bright eyes as he curled into a ball, hugging the pillow to his chest, face still buried in the feathery softness. Without looking up, his hand groped along the blankets until his fingers touched the leg of the Teddy doll. He pulled it his chest, trying to find that bit of comfort it had given him as a six-year-old the week before.

The ghost, sensing that the child needed some time to come down from the emotional high that had hit him back in the main room, settled down on the end of the bed, far enough away from Mike that he wouldn't chill the boy. Unlike Fritz, who had only been dead five years or so, Scott had twenty years of experience with the supernatural and knew how to make himself solid enough to touch items and people of the living world. He settled himself on the end of the bed, far enough away from Mike that he wouldn't chill the boy, and watched as the child's heaving shoulders began to slow.

His gasping breaths calmed, his breathing evened out, his body fell lax around the pillow, and the Teddy bear found itself tucked beneath his chin, held tightly in place by both arms. The boy, who hadn't slept a wink since the night before, when he was six-years-old and eagerly anticipating his birthday, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, carefully watched over by three ghosts.

* * *

 **AN: Oh my goodness, this chapter just took on a life of it's own! Subbing again today, and had a long while to work on a computer unimpeded, and this jumped out and demanded to be written. I'm glad I'm getting a chapter out so quickly, though! I hope you enjoy!**

 **Thank you so much for all the fantastic reviews you gave me. I appreciate each and every single one so much! Please review if you're enjoying this story so far - I love both positive and negative/constructive feedback!**

 **Cheers!**


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